


A Sponsor & A Gentleman

by ravengabrielle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Community: Dramione FanFiction Forum, Community: dramione_remix, Community: dramionedrabble, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Fluff, Good Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger-centric, Hogwarts, Pregnancy, Teen Pregnancy, Teen Romance, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 70,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26463259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravengabrielle/pseuds/ravengabrielle
Summary: Hermione Granger finds herself in a compromised situation as an impregnated teenager in Hogwarts without the support of her baby's father. Now, with the school against her, one wizard emerges to assume the role of the baby's father. Short story, multiple parts written already. Dramione story. Hogwarts. Rated M for possible maturity. (Self-harm scene trigger warning)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 171
Kudos: 581
Collections: Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger, Dramione





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Self Harm Scene

**A Sponsor & A Gentleman**

## Part I

Sponsor (v.)

To accept responsibility for someone else’s actions or situation

The day started off dismal. A rainy, dreary horizon without the slightest ray of sun to split the melancholy with the promise of sunny days to come. No, they were forced to endure. Harsh and cold, like the lands of Scotland were. Drafty and dark, like the walls of Hogwarts castle were.

It only soured from there.

Hermione Granger hadn’t felt right for days. She was exhausted so much that her eyes felt heavy in a long lecture, barely able to finish a class without having to pinch herself awake on threat of a bruise. The frequency of her lack of appetite raised concern. Then there was the absence of something that happened every month that ensured her suspicion was correct.

With tears in her eyes, she found a spell that could be used to self-diagnose.

The stream of orange magic appeared above her eyes. It was filled with lots of information. Her heart rate. It was rather fast. Given the circumstance, the elevation seemed appropriate. Her weight and height were there. As was her respiration rate, oxygen levels, her blood sugar levels. Through the miscellaneous information was a pesky little statement buried between the statement of her approximate age and the newly found chemical within her body.

**Four weeks gestation.**

The newly found chemical within her body was human chorionic gonadotropin hormone (hCG). It was created by a placenta when implanted with an embryo.

She fanned her hands at her face to keep the tears at bay in their own waters. She could not cry. The time for crying was over. Decisions, important ones, were all that mattered now.

It was that very circumstance that made pregnancy termination a thing she supported. She was in no position to support a child. Sixteen was no age to become a mother. There was no viable experience in which she could balance boarding school in a magic castle and raising another human. If she was unable to attend Hogwarts, she’d be Oblivated, left alone with magical abilities and no knowledge of her life, her friends, or Ron.

Ronald Weasley was her boyfriend. They’d finally decided to give it a try after a few years of being friends. Truthfully the only reason they spoke was because of Harry Potter. At first, he was the friend they pulled at between the pair of them. Ron didn’t like Hermione because she was assertive. Hermione despised Ronald for his narrow-minded thinking. Poor Harry right at the center.

Time healed all things. As did rogue trolls loose in the loo. The trio had taken down the beast after a mischievous pair of wizards known at the Weasley twins explored the dungeons and released the troll by mistake. The entire castle descended into a panic.

The brash Ron wanted to find it. Harry followed to be apart of the action while Hermione joined merely to ensure that they didn’t hurt themselves. Neither were ready for a troll. She was not either. But, the two boys were too lax with their schooling to be of real threat to a pixie, much less a full-grown troll.

That was years ago. They were sixth years now. Grown up, with much more knowledge but not much more wisdom.

Clearly. Underage pregnancy was not the action of the wise.

Hermione found Ron before breakfast. His hair was sloppy and uncombed. Ends of it stuck everywhere. Small yellowish golden crust rested in the corner of his eyes. Wrinkles rampant throughout his robes and trousers. Even his tie.

She appraised him with a frown. “Do you have a minute?”

“Can it wait?” He pointed to the open doors of the Great Hall. Aromas of breakfast wafted through the open barrier, making her mouth water and stomach churn. “I’d like a spot before class.”

“It can’t,” she replied quickly. “It really can’t.”

Ron was the first boyfriend she had. He was kind and gentle when he wasn’t being impatient and overreactive. It was a learning curve to find the right melody between them, even with their years as friends under their belt. Some days it felt forced. She tried so hard. So much effort to make it work for the sake of their friend group, all of whom were either related to Ron or just very close.

Part of her felt that it shouldn’t be so difficult to be with someone. But what would she know? Half the people in Gryffindor thought she was the difficult one.

She tried to regain some sense of control as her and Ron drifted close in each other’s confidence. It was out in the open corridor, but there was no one around to overhear.

His eyes were sleepy yet. It took too long for him to blink.

“Ron, there is something I have to tell you,” she said. He remained unfazed. Her tone was serious and steady though she was filled with nothing but faltering confidence. “I’m – well, do you remember the start of term and we were on patrol and things just got out of hand?”

His face suddenly brightened. “Oh, yeah. I remember.”

A solid pressure appeared at her thigh as he moved closer into her. She gasped and jumped away.

“I’m not asking for that, you wanker!” She snapped. “I meant I’m… well, I’m expecting because of that.”

All the joy drained from Ron’s face. “What?”

She nodded. “I’m with child.”

The blue of his eye was visible in the wide-eyed, frightened gaze of a wizard in over his head, shocked to his core. She felt for him. She felt the same way. Her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him close.

“I know,” she whispered. “I can’t believe it either.”

His arms stayed at his sides. The shock.

“What are we – I mean, what are we going to do? Get married?” He mumbled.

“We’re too young.”

Married? Really? That would solve their problems?

“Yeah, well I’d say it’s a little late for talk like that.”

Her face fell. The hug loosened. They were forced apart, baffled by the other.

Hermione instead wrapped her arms around her sides. The comfort of the embrace was nice. She felt a small security in her own hold, one that calmed the trembling of her hands.

It was a thing she expected from her boyfriend. She was the one pregnant. Her body was under duress, not his. They were in it together and she needed comfort and strength. Why wasn’t he giving her those?

The light faded away in his eyes. That regard of her with playful desire, one that had only led to their current situation.

“I think it is best, considering our circumstances, that a termination is in order.”

“Termination?” His face twisted back. Away from her. “What are you talking about? You mean killing our…killing our baby?”

“We’re in school, Ron. We can’t support a baby. We go to a boarding school.”

“My mum doesn’t work. She can help us.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. “Help us? You mean raise our child? We aren’t home for nine months of the year, Ron. That wouldn’t be our child. It’d be _your_ sibling!”

Their voices were starting to be too heated for open discussion. It would attract attention if they went on any longer.

Hermione controlled her breaths. The wave of emotions in her was unstable, threatening to tip over her steadfast ship with Ron’s hurricane of guilt.

She knew it was awful to have to choose. It was an awful position to be put in.

They had no jobs, no money. She was a muggleborn in the magical world. If she were to be removed from school, that was it for her memories. They’d be taken away.

Her voice lowered. “We can continue this somewhere else. Somewhere private.”

“I’m not going to change my mind,” Ron spat. “I can’t believe you’d want to kill our baby. An innocent child. I won’t let you. And if you try to leave, even for a day, I’ll report you to my mum and she’ll stop you before you do anything. And the whole world will know you’re a murderer.”

Her mouth dropped open. It was the cruelest thing to say. She detested the idea, too. It’d haunt her entire life.

But a baby? They wouldn’t be allowed to keep it. The laws in place prevented her from taking a leave of absence or home schooling. If she left the school grounds, she would not be permitted to know of magic or the wizarding world.

“Ron. That’s not fair. Think of me. I’m a muggleborn - .”

“You’re a witch, Hermione. A witch who should have known how to prevent this if you were so opposed to it. Why’d you even lay with me if you’d just want to kill anything we might make? You should have known better. Really. You’re the brightest witch of the age, so called.”

She stood there, wide-eyed and heartbroken, hurt and utterly betrayed by the wizard she’d trusted with her precious virginity, the beating of her heart, all of her soul and life attached to it. Her eyes welled. All the things he said were things she already felt about herself.

Ron ignored the look of her eyes. He looked off into the distance of the Great Hall where the rest of the school sat, eating and being cheerful in their childlike manner.

It hurt her heart. Every laugh, every single excited word shouted across tables. Their happiness burned against her sadness. The devastation. How did the whole world feel alright when hers burned at her feet?

“I’ve got to go,” his tongue slapped against the roof of his mouth, “get this taste out my mouth. See you ‘round.”

See you around. That was all he was going to offer after his threat to publicly shame her if she sought an alternative course to her pregnancy. He hadn’t even bothered to ask if she was hungry. Which she was! Only when she ate, vomit came instead.

She was left alone to navigate the day, on her own, a changed person. A woman, now. An expectant mother.

It passed in front of her like one of those movies with the Godric-awful acting and plots centered around high school and popularity. The blur of faces. The only thought in her mind as to what she should do. Should she stay a witch or lose her memories, her friends? Half of the baby’s family was magical. Would they be permitted to visit?

A horrid twist came to her insides. If she kept the baby and left Hogwarts, she wouldn’t recognize Ron as the baby’s father. Molly, Arthur, Ginny, the twins, Bill, Charlie and Percy would be nothing but strangers to her eyes.

How could Ronald ever want to do that to her?

The stares. It happened almost immediately. The day and the next ones after were filled with eyes following her everywhere she went. Their whispers, too. She caught the tail end of their conversations, aimed at her pride and honor and self-worth.

_Murderer. Harlot. Whore._

The witches were the worst. Lavender and Pavarti would stop their frantic giggling whenever she entered the dorm, turned to hidden whispers as Hermione readied for bed, and spoke in hushed tones. Their eyes would glance over ever so often. The mumble of ‘slag’ on their tongue.

Every day it cut deeper and deeper.

Ronald spread their private business throughout Gryffindor Tower. Everyone knew. She knew they did. Older witches looked down on her with despair while the older wizards had something different in their eyes. Both, she avoided like the plague.

Ginny turned on her, at the urging of her brother. They detested her for wanting to terminate her pregnancy.

“I can’t be friends with someone who murders innocent babies,” was the excuse. It hurt worse than a slap to the face.

Harry was the only one left to turn to. And Ron rarely left him alone enough to allow them a moment.

She was entirely alone.

There was one route left. One she dragged herself to do.

Her parents, Stacey and William Granger, were good, supportive parents. They loved their only daughter dearly, despite her differences. The news of her magical abilities was a defining moment in their family. It was hard. There were tears. Their lives were wretched apart with the laws of the magical world to ensure the secrecy of magic from muggles.

She wrote the dreaded letter in the library. The quiver in her palm splattered ink over the parchment, over and over. Eventually she was forced to work through the shaking, allow some splattered ink to smudge against the margins, and thoroughly explain her situation to her parents. It was filled with much humiliation.

In the letter, she told them how Ron reacted toward her choice. She thought her parents might appreciate her mature decision. They were supportive with everything else. She wanted them to know that she tried to do the right thing for herself but was prevented by forces outside her control.

Hermione walked herself to the Owlery to see it off. It was a stinky, filth-filled place, with perches all aligned in a tower. So many owls called the Owlery home. It reminded her of Norte Dame. All the eyes turned upon her the moment she entered. Through rising darkness, the bright whites cut through as a reminder of their watch. Always under their gaze. They saw everything. As the chimera did the steps of the famous French cathedral.

The school owls were nice enough to allow her to invade their space to give them the letter. Other personal owls looked down from their perch with beady eyes, as if accusing her of disrupting their solitude.

The school owl, after given the proper motivation of a biscuit, took hold of her letter. The golden yellow wings stretched outward; their length incredible for the tiny creature at their center. It flapped. Dust swirled in the around. Her eyes were forced close against the force of age around the creature. Little by little, the body ascended until it reached a peak. Then suddenly, out of sight, it cooed into the dismal afternoon.

Business done, she turned back. Her hand gripped the railing of the slick stairs that winded around the base of the tower. She was near the ground when a head of red came into view.

Air rushed out of her lungs. “Oh!”

Her feet almost flung out from beneath her. It was only her iron tight grip on the metal railing that kept her from being thrown down the last few concrete steps.

It was Ronald Weasley in her path. They’d avoided one another since she revealed her pregnancy and he turned on her like an evil madwoman.

“Hey,” he said, all too causal for what had happened.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing out here?” He looked up at the grey sky. His lips sloped downward. “It’s a piss poor day, innit?”

The threat of rain was legitimate. The skies did appear ready to unload their burdens upon the land at any moment. It was likely she would not make it back to the castle dry.

Still, she was more concerned with the change in Ron. His sudden interest in what she did was lightyears away from the day before when he’d refused to let her through the barrier of the Great Hall to go to the loo.

“What does it matter what I’m doing, Ronald? You cannot care less. From what I can tell, there is nothing that disgusts you more than me seeing as you’ve bad mouthed me to every person in Gryffindor.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on. I’m here to make amends. Start over. I miss you.”

“You miss me? You miss someone you’ve called a murdering slag. Who you’ve shoved out of your way and blackmailed into remaining pregnant.”

“Sure, I do.” He shrugged. “You know. You’re always there. I’ve been really struggling with classes lately and Harry has been no help. He just pushes me off, tells me to figure it out. You were always so patient with me.”

His eyes were at the ground. The tip of his shoe toyed with the long strands of grass.

The stupid prat. That’s all he had to say? That is how he missed her? Because of her homework help!

“You’re mental, you know that. Mental!” She shrieked. “You can’t even pretend enough to give me a real apology before you ask me to do your assignments. It’s bad enough that I did it before, but now? After everything you’ve done to me. That’s how you want to continue.”

“Whoa. Hey. I didn’t say I’d apologize.”

She froze. “What?”

“I was going to give you the chance to apologize for trying to murder a baby,” he said, totally serious. Full eye contact, unashamed of his behavior and the fact that he’d slandered her name, the mother of his unborn child. “You know. Give you a chance to get back together with me.”

It was difficult to remember what exactly happened. Her mind went to a dark place. Anger fueled into fury. His repulsive arrogance made it impossible to look past the fact that she despised violence as a means to exchange ideas. However, she did like the image of her exchanging her fist against his cheek.

Ron recoiled back and gasped at the pain in his face. The bloody disbelief made her want to beat him to a bloody stump.

How dare he!

She stormed back to the castle with literal rage in her veins. Her face was red. It stung against the cool air. The crisp stomp of her feet against the stone floors. Her chest puffed full as a shield, daring a word to be said to her. The wand at her side ached for a duel.

He said that he would love her for all his life. That night. They were on patrol through the dark depths of the castle. There had been advances in their relationship that made sex the next step for them. He often tugged her into isolated spots for a kiss. Sometimes he’d touch the center of her jeans. His lips would murmur whatever words it took to get her hands to touch him.

Now that she remembered their relationship, it was often that way. He sweet-talked his way for their first kiss, innocently finding some mistletoe and alluding to what it meant. As a young girl, she thought that cute. Not knowing what mistletoe was.

The corridors of the castle were populated with students. They watched her pass. Her secret a public spectacle impossible to escape. Thanks to Ron.

Anthony Goldstein, Terry Boot, Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas were huddled together when she walked past. She heard their conversation stop completely. A pair of fatal glares filled the silence. The burning shame of what had happened between Hermione and Ron, an intense, personal moment, the spectacle for the entire school to watch burn.

Tears rose in her eyes. The colors of their houses – red, yellow and blue – muddled into one mess. A slight loosening in her nostril alluded to the rising sadness. She felt her chest start to shake.

Dean Thomas stepped forward; eyes narrower than the slit of his nostrils. “Something to say, minger?”

The weight of her stomach dropped to her knees. A burn spread across the bridge of her nose throughout her cheeks.

Her feet stumbled back behind her. Unable to land against stability. She continued that way until she saw the opening of a stair and ran for it.

She ran and ran, jostling the churning nauseous sensation alive, pushing her lungs to the peak of collapse before inhaling another breath. Her eyes were overcome with water. She felt it drain down her face. The flooding of a thousand rivers down her jaw, onto her blouse and robes.

Where could she go?

Gryffindor Tower was not safe. They’d all laugh at her there. The library was a favorite, but was bound to be congested, given the time of day. Crying wasn’t a quiet business either. Madame Pince was bound to discover her sobbing into _The Scarlet Letter_ and ask her to leave.

There was one place she thought of that might be secluded enough for protection. The fifth floor Prefect’s bath. It was not used often. On the rare occasion, someone who wanted privacy ventured behind the statue of Boris to enter the realm of the moping ghost that filled the air with shrieks and complaints.

Hermione’s steps echoed through the lonely halls of stone. It was an empty part of the castle. The portraits were eager to call out for a chat, just to fill their time. The torches at the walls were remarkably clean despite their lack of usage. The dust at the floor, however, coated the hem of her robe in a layer of fluffy grey grime.

She found the statue of Boris the Bewildered. The space behind him was slim, but just slender enough for a body to pass through. She forced herself inside, disregarding the lock because why bother, and threw herself to the floor.

The cool ground pressed against her forehead did little to cool the fires of humiliation inside. Ron’s words one by one entered her mind with their burning spread of flame as it ate away at all she knew about her life. His friendship was paramount to Hogwarts. She hadn’t been accepted with ease. It was only by the luck of meeting Harry Potter before he did that gave her any standing in Gryffindor.

A hollow sob ruptured the calm. She felt it rise from the deep of herself, twisting her body as it came.

It was a wretched howl of emptiness. That ripped through whatever calm she’d held back and released a steady flood of emotion. She screamed into the floor. Tears upon sobs upon mucous flowed out of her without concern over how much it burned the back of her throat.

She descended into a spiral. The spiral of her life questioned every moment that she held with happiness in the belief it was not as golden as she’d pictured it. All the petty statements about her appearance and tone, she thought playful jealousy. All along his distaste for her was apparent.

He snogged Lavender, after the Yule Ball. He said it was because she’d danced with Viktor Krum even though she was his date, but it hadn’t been romantic. Viktor was a friend. He was respectable and kind, danced with her during the formal dance when Ron couldn’t be bothered to do it because it was ‘prat stuff’.

Looking back, he’d been jealous when she had to direct him how to overpower the troll because Harry was in it’s grasp and her wand had been tossed out of her hand when the troll cornered her beneath a sink. The puff in his chest when he told everyone he’d been the one to cast a spell that dropped the troll’s weapon onto its head. His tone turned cold when Hermione mentioned the fact that Harry had went down with the troll.

He said in his snotty tone, “And if you hadn’t been cowered in the corner, he might have been alright.”

The mountain troll was huge. It blocked every path back to Ron with its body, the toilet stalls, and the massive, stinky feet. She tried. She’d even dared touch the yucky flesh of it just to try and shove past. The troll promptly kicked her back against the wall. There was a knot on her head for weeks.

Every moment, he hated her. Hated her.

And, she fell in love. Despite it all. In spite of everything in her body repelling her away, the pressure to cling to the few people who liked her in the magical world seemed heavier. She allowed herself to be charmed by it: the jealousy, the way he asked her for help like he wasn’t smart enough, the lust he showed in her presence.

She was an idiot. A bigger dolt than him!

It was impossible to have that many tears within a body and still be alive, but she was there, face against a puddle of her own tears, in a loo that was not the best place to put a face. The care of hygiene was long gone. She was sad. And sadness reigned over everything.

Why was she alive? Was her purpose just to suffer?

Her life was a series of misplacement. Not with her parents. Not with muggles. Not with wizards and witches. She didn’t belong anywhere.

Not a single person cared if she lived. The only thing attached to her was the thing slowly sucking away the world before her eyes, growing and stealing her energy to fuel the hate that was yet to come. The bigger her belly, the more obvious the shame. The real curse of Ron’s lust: the visibility of her stupidity.

Not thinking or caring, she raised the wooden wand to her wrist. She didn’t feel a single thing: the want to breathe, the want to hurt, the urge to walk out the door. All she felt was gloom. A spreading black sheet over her. It suffocated every angle she thought as a way out. Gone. To blackness.

“Diffindo.”

She gasped when the power hit against the tender flesh of her wrist. A line of red cut through the creamy skin. It spread wide. The burning of the spell spread up her arm. Her fingers ached, curled inward. The seeping of red drained downward. It dripped to the floor with her tears, a murky mess of herself.

The puddle of all she was worth.

“Again,” she murmured. “Diffindo.”

Again, the power took her breath away. A slit, blood, pain.

Blood was of no consequence. She was comprised of it. And what was she? A waste of space. A waste of breath? She shouldn’t share the same air as the rest of those worthy of respect.

She laid down in the mixture of blood and tears, willing to let the world pass her by…

A small click reverberated through the still. The air changed around her. It was no longer hers.

“Geez, Granger. Ever heard of latching the door? Wouldn’t want to find you in the bath, now would I?”

The pompous tone was something she’d know anywhere. It belonged to the one most popular, handsome jock Hogwarts had to offer: Draco Malfoy.

He was a blonde prince, of good family, wealth, and education. Slytherin was his home known for those with ambitious blood and he was said to emulate that to a tee. His goals reached high.

There was not a single witch in Hogwarts able to say they lacked a crush on the wizard; if they did, they were lying. He was the epitome of what was attractive. It wasn’t just his looks, which were stunning, but the way he carried himself. Without doubt. He exhumed the air of confidence, as if the ground was blessed to be walked on by him, the world was his to grab, and not a worry was to be found out there.

It was known that he was sharp with his tongue. His mind worked swiftly, just as swift as his wand.

And although she carried top marks throughout their years together, he was a close second. So, it was fair to assume he was intelligent beyond means.

Hermione hadn’t had much experience with the wizard herself. She knew of him. Who didn’t? But there was a limited amount of conversation between them. They shared classes, but not friends. Her friend, Harry Potter, was the rival of Draco. They played the same position in Quidditch on rival teams. Their relationship was rather tense, but it never left the off remark of one’s playing ability.

The wizards relationship made him comfortable to address her the same as he did them: by last name. A slight joust at her choice of friends was the most ever said in her direction. Even then, it hadn’t required response. It was more to taunt them than to address her.

She was shocked to find him in the Prefect bath. It was not a favorite of anyone’s. It was forgotten and dirty most days. On a good day, a disturbed ghost of a deceased student haunted the stalls with her cries of self-pity and loneliness.

The wound at her wrist leaked quickly when she put weight on it. She raised up from the floor with a bigger splash of red.

“What are you doing on the floor?”

He was not bothered by the fact his tone was familiar with her when they were not socially in the same circle.

She wiped the back of her hand against her face. “I just - .”

His eyes bulged. The grey stormy eyes traveled down the length of her forearm down to the floor where a mess of liquid rested.

She shifted awkwardly in under his gaze. It was a circumstance that she was uncertain she knew to navigate. What did one say to a total stranger that things weren’t always peachy in Hogwarts?

How would a wizard like that be knowledgeable of suffering? His life was royal. He lived unbothered and protected by the status of his last name and the fact he’d been born and raised with magic. What could he know of the struggles of a muggleborn witch like her?

Draco’s eyes finally narrowed. “Get ahold of yourself. You’re letting someone like Ron Weasley get the better of you? So much for being the brightest witch of the age.”

It was sharp, his tongue. She knew the rumors were true. He did not mince words.

Hermione blinked, still in shock from his statement, quizzical as to how he knew it was Ron who was causing her pain, when he wretched her arm away from her, brandished a slender black wand, and murmured a healing spell. White light spilled from the tip. It wove back and forth against her wounds, sealing up the flesh into one stretch.

His touch was fire in her veins. Each fingertip dug into her arm with blaring heat, enough to feel each connection of their bodies entwined in one.

Her eyes never left his face. The flicker of determination, concentration, the slight part of his lips as he focused on his spell work.

“There,” he said. His eyes scanned his work, checking the hold on the seal. When they raised to hers, she wasn’t expecting a warmth in his regard. The tone did not match. “Toughen up, Granger. Don’t let a nobody diminish you.”

It was the strangest encounter. She was so moved that she was frozen in place as he left. The sounds of his retreating steps the only evidence she hadn’t just conjured his figure as a dream in a state of shock from blood loss.

Hermione pinched herself for good measure. The height of pain confirmed it was not a daydream. It gave her the strength to continue through the day in spite of all Ron’s attempts to knock her down.

The next day, after an awkward lunch of eating on the outer rim of the Gryffindor ranks, she retreated to the forgotten depths of the library for a bit of serenity within a school of chaos. It was filled with dust. Every breath was thick with it.

She dragged her finger along the middle shelf as she walked through the aisle, deeper and deeper away from the main section. Most students had little reason to venture outside the main section near the librarian’s desk. Only dedicated readers pushed farther. She, being one of those, had a favorite hide out in the winding alleyways of the towering bookcases that only those talented with a sense of direction could find it. It helped on the days when Ron was especially demanding, or Ginny wanted to do makeovers.

The warm perfume of books welcomed her. There was a release of the air as a small pocket between the bookshelves opened up. A small table fit for only four people sat in the space. Two embroidered wingback chairs with matching pillows of the same elderly flower and butterfly fabric rested. They were often pushed together so her feet might have a nice elevation as she studied.

Her book bag plopped into one chair; her body fell into the other.

She was plagued with hunger. The urge to eat was serious. It’d been a struggle to hold back her vomit in the Great Hall. All the mingling smells of the food tortured her sensitive nose. It was more precise than a bloodhound.

The growling of her stomach only reminded her of the situation she was in. Her eyes glanced down with a frown. “Can’t you be a wee bit nicer to me, eh? I’m your mum. Far as I know, I’ll be the only one you’ve got, so just, let me eat.”

Her nose exhaled. It was the only moment she allowed herself to think of what kind of person was there, listening to her, growing in her image, sharing her blood, organs, and space. What formed inside her uterus was a mystery that she kept locked at the back of her mind. There was no point to consider. She had work to do.

Potions was a class that required constant reading. The professor, Professor Snape, held her in high esteem. He expected much of her. Much more than the others.

The text was thick. The purple covering and matching spine held the contents of an entire year’s lessons. Her book was read through already. It was a fascinating subject. The high esteem of her professor only fueled her need to be fully educated on the topic before class started.

Her fingers landed on the script title in thick black letters: Amortentia.

Love potions were wildly underestimated in their power. They created delusions of romance and lust. It was difficult to surpass a person’s free will. Others with such power were known as Unforgiveable. Somehow, love potions were accessible and still taught in lessons.

The text warned of its use. The infatuation was encompassing of all other thought. They were warped into a skewed sense of love in total loss of themselves and their wellbeing.

Hermione thought it was horrid to be trapped in a relationship under a love potion. Every single one was bound to be abusive. She wondered if it was rampant in the city for a wizard’s date rape potion.

The afternoon light passed. Pain in her stomach was impossible to ignore. Her thoughts pulled away from the words of the text to the growling, howling, begging of her stomach.

The hunger only fed her exhaustion. As she always felt. Her eyes were heavy. She physically held them open so that she might keep studying.

“Not crying again, are you? I won’t be around if you’re crying.”

She jumped in her seat. It was Draco. Out of thin air, apparently. He was dressed down in his casual trousers and loosened button up. The collar was starched high, but the knot in his tie was near the center of his chest.

“Then kick rocks.” She growled.

Her stomach was angry. She was angry.

His face fell to a scowl. One hip tucked below him. A messenger bag hanged off one shoulder, jutting against his slender hip, a shredded layer of his uniform over top. “What’s your problem, Granger?”

She curled her fingers inward to taut fists. “My problem is that I haven’t eaten in two days and I’m absolutely ravenous, but every time I smell food, I get queasy and nauseous and vomit the only thing I’ve been able to keep down. Water! My breasts are killing me. My back won’t stop hurting. All I want to do is sleep, but I can’t because I’ve got these bloody classes! All my friends hate me because of Ronald. Oh! And I’m pregnant with that pathetic wizard’s child when I don’t want to be and I’m terrified that I have to do this alone. So excuse me if I don’t leap for joy when you arrive. You’ll find your taunts have little effect on me.”

It felt breathtaking, like the first intake of breath for weeks. Her heart pattered in a healthy rhythm. A hearty swell in her chest with each breath, suddenly relieved of pressure.

Draco Malfoy remained in place. His eyes blinked. Face, unable to remain stoic in the light of her admission. His nose breathed a sharp inhale before he turned around and left.

The weight of defeat pressed heavily against her, awash in the fact that she’d pushed away the only one willing to associate with her. Bitter tears of self-pity – _Godric how she hated them_ – trickled from the creases of her eyes.

If she had known this was what would come of Ronald Weasley, she’d have pretended he didn’t exist.

A time later after all her tears were spent, she still laid against the table, wet and sad, unwilling to rise again, when something struck her head. It was crinkly.

“There. Eat those,” Draco said. He was there in the aisle, hand in his pocket. “They’ll help.”

Hermione rose, wiping the moisture from her cheeks. “I’ve tried crisps already. They upset my stomach.”

The cutting silhouette of Draco Malfoy cut through the candlelight. His dark outline to the palette of browns and golds and yellows of the library.

“Try them,” he urged. “You need to eat.”

The bag was unmarked. Not a name or explanation. Just shiny silver reflective bag like those of crisps. She tucked in. The need to eat was stronger than the threat of her rolling belly. In fact, she was ready to binge without regard to what she retched on. The floor, the walls, ancient tapestries older than her own great-grandfather.

The pale crisps were in odd shapes. They looked like potato crisps, but once they hit her tongue and melded into the moisture of her mouth, she knew they weren’t. Their taste was sharp. It was spicy without the heat.

She’d been doubtful about his magic crisps. However, the churning of her belly stopped. It instead demanded more. Her pace quickened. She shoved all the odd crisps into her mouth at once.

A full belly after being ill for days was a bliss unmatched. Her mood lifted. The body she resided in filled with energy, spark again.

“What are these?” She marveled at their power. She needed more. Ten bags. No, twenty.

“Ginger,” he replied. “The house elves will get anything when asked.”

Her heart swelled. Tears, again, bubbled at her surface. “You asked for these?”

It was the first time in so long that someone had bothered themselves to help her. The entire school knew she was pregnant, or at least Gryffindor did. Not a single one let her through first or freed up a toilet so she might toss up all her stomach contents.

A droplet oozed from the corner of her eye.

Draco shifted. “Only so you don’t have to gripe about being hungry. I do have exams to study for.”

It was the nicest feeling all term. They sat, silent, content in each other’s company. Any mention of her condition died between them, the peak of what it meant to be in Draco’s presence. He did not rattle on when unnecessary. That was the day she discovered there was more to the Hogwarts witches obsession with Draco Malfoy. It was not only his looks. He was different.

. . . . . . .

Her feet rushed through the packed corridors. Students of every color marched through, in their own focus of where they were expected that the Gryffindor Prefect with a pale face was forgotten in the sea of faces. Her hair was loose. Curls claimed her shoulders. They bounced with her jog, teasing the corners of her eyes with their prodding ends.

She hadn’t the time to brush them away. Potions was soon.

Hermione was first at the classroom every single day. It was her favorite one.

This day was different since she’d taken an extra-long puke break in between classes. Her stomach was royally upset with her. Nothing stayed put. Not toothpaste, nor gum, or her own salvia.

A crowd was formed around the door. Professor Snape was still absent. He allowed them to congregate outside so that there were no incidents in the class. He had many rare ingredients stored inside. Many were irreplaceable.

The students were split down house lines. Gryffindor was on one side, Slytherin on the other.

A redhead was at the front of Gryffindor, somehow granted king status during the collapse of their relationship and her sudden social status drop. Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas flanked each side. They laughed together in that lurid way that made witches stomachs roll.

The trio, along with Harry albeit he was not as invested in their conversation, noticed her late coming.

“Abortion attempt run late?” Ron snickered. “Got Miss Perfect off her schedule.”

A giggle ran through Gryffindor. They hid behind their hands, but she heard the rise through them.

They hated her.

Her eyes glanced at the crowd of Slytherins. Their interest was elsewhere. None acknowledged a thing had been said at all.

Except Draco, who’s eyes went from stoic indifference to narrowed slits of pure loathing.

He stepped forward from the close-knot crowd of his house like a knight encased in shining, silver armor. “Just tell me Weasley, how did she get in this situation? She didn’t put that baby up there herself, now did she?” The two closest friends, Goyle and Crabbe, moved closer to Draco’s sides. His aides. The attention of the emerald house raised to appraise the situation. Their faces remained stacked with passive eyes, but they did watch Draco closely. “Had your parents had a full brain between them, they’d have raised you with a respect for witches. All better families know that expecting witches are the only thing that makes our world possible. You lot of lions might not care for the continuation of yourself, all you want is glory, a name in the papers. But here, in Slytherin, you’re nothing but a pathetic wizard who lacks honor and dignity, forgets their duty in the name of lust.”

Ron’s face reddened to the hue of his hair.

It brought a slight relief to the humiliation she announced in front of half their year. The satisfaction was short lived. Though her lips were twisted with a smirk, her hand clutched at her stomach. The degree of pain inside was rising higher. Her throat felt a familiar burning. A slick coat splashed against her tongue, ready for the spill.

“Can’t expect much from a Weasley, can you?” Draco snickered. It was accompanied with a chorus of his fellow snakes. “Like to reproduce but can’t be bothered to respect the witches doing their dirty work. All you Weasleys ought be cut of your loins. Doesn’t do any good to have more things like you around.”

The eyes of Gryffindor were wide. It was not a matter discussed in the open, especially in front of the Weasleys. Their father, Arthur, was known to have fathered many illegitimate children over the years. It was a widely known, gossiped about fact. He mated with witches and left them alone, to suffer in their shame over sleeping with a married man.

It made Draco’s insult all hit Ron’s pride. The redhead grabbed hold of his wand, surged forward with it at the edge of his hand ready to duel, only to be met with an ebony wand pointed at his face.

The two houses came close, ready to fight. Wands were drawn on each side.

One head of black stepped between. His hand latched around his friend’s wrist, lowering the wand slowly. The forlorn look in his eye tortured Hermione. Her best friend was torn between two people, two worlds now, and he was unable to escape it.

“Easy, Ron,” Harry coaxed. He turned back to Hermione with a frown. “Honestly, Mione. Are you alright?”

Alright was not close enough to describe what she was.

“Don’t worry about her.” Draco hissed. “Worry about your choice in friend, Potter. You’ve chosen the wrong one.”

He is at her side the next moment. His arm gently grasps below her shoulder, guiding her to a nearby loo, all the while her hands clasped her mouth shut. When the door finally appeared in front, she rushed through, finding an open stall, and falling to her knees.

Liquid bile, orange and yellow, poured from her lips. The burning stench hurt her nose. Water of the toilet splashed as her body forced every fluid and organ from her body.

A pair of soft, cool hands touched her cheeks. She gasped.

“It’s just me,” Draco murmured.

The floor and the toilet were cleaned by the end of his wand. His hands pulled back her chocolate curls, laced them through his fingers, and held her as all the punishment for her actions poured from her throat. Tears streamed down her face. The utter power that surged up through her body was meant to be a curse. It was too strong not to be.

The curse of falling in love.

A shuffling sounded behind them.

“Oh for the love of…get a bloody move on! Nothing to see here.”

The echo was his voice moved whoever it was out of the loo. A hollow rattle of a door latch confirmed their flee.

Eventually the retching stopped. Her stomach, emptied of everything but the blood of her body. Her knees wobbled below, but she fought them to standing. Draco pulled back. The air to breathe was suddenly fresh, and not hot air shot back from inside a toilet bowl.

The knob of the tap squeaked open. A steady stream of cool water poured through. Draco gestured her forward.

“Um, thanks for that.” Her eyes stayed at the floor.

Draco Malfoy, stud of Hogwarts, had just watched her vomit. Repeatedly.

“Couldn’t have you puking right after I made a point.” He shrugged. “It would have drawn focus from Ron’s shame.”

It was immature what he said. Low. She shouldn’t have taken pleasure of Ron’s public degradation like a first year. She was better than that.

He uncrossed his arms. “Come on then. Let’s get to class before Snape assigns us detention.”

They are the last ones to filter through the doors. The Gryffindor side was filled. Every seat taken.

The two open seats were alongside Draco’s best friends. One at the back with Goyle and the other just a table ahead with Crabbe. She had not ever met them apart from classroom introductions. They were the silent type.

Hermione twisted with indecision. Which place should she take?

Draco tapped Goyle’s shoulder. “Move up.”

It gave her and him the last table in the back corner all to themselves. The new placement earned a few lifted brow gazes from the professor as he took the center stage in front of them. His fingertips were coated with white dust. It smudged against the black folds of his robes as he lectured on love potions.

He gave warnings to the potency of love potions like Amortentia. The ominous drawl of his throat as he questioned to the reason of his warnings left an unsettled silence throughout the room.

None knew the answer.

Hermione raised her hand. The dark of his eye flickered with pride. His hands stowed away into the flowing sleeves of his robes, the attire that earning him the snickering remarks of him secretly being the Grim Reaper.

He was a young man. She doubted his age was older than her own parents, but there was the sloping scowl that earned him many lines through his porcelain flesh.

“Miss Granger?”

“It is said that children conceived of love potions cannot feel love,” she said. “It is believed that any magical person born of such a ruin will reign chaos over our world until we are exposed to the muggle world.”

The eyes of the class were intense. She felt their glares blister her cheeks. However, the look of death from Ron tickled her lips into a smile. It was wrong. Her parents raised a better woman than that.

“Very good, Miss Granger. Can you tell me how we know such things?” The professor asked.

“Seers, sir.”

“And where are the predictions of seers kept?” His brow raised.

He thought he’d caught her. Didn’t he have an actual challenge?

“The Department of Mysteries. In the Ministry of Magic.”

“Impressive, Miss Granger,” he said. After an exaggerated breath, he added. “Ten points to Gryffindor.”

She never understood why Professor Snape frightened so many. His emotions were so obvious. He kept them deep, but never impossible to riddle. After only five years, she knew how to read him like any other, if not better because of the utter concentration it required to learn the wizard.

A question of the legality of brewing love potions was asked and directed the attention away from Hermione.

It was lucky that the discussion warranted cover. Like a beast awakened from a centuries slumber, her stomach growled in hunger. It filled her ears.

She noticed a shaking at her side. It was Draco. He chuckled under his breath after each groan of her insides.

“Stop,” she whispered. “You’re drawing focus.”

“What, and the gargling dragon at the back of the class doesn’t?”

Potions was fun. She was sad when it had to end and the houses parted ways to their other classes. Her lips frowned when Draco waved. His bag was slung atop his shoulder. The white of his shirt was taut against his chest. It gave a nice outline as he watched away.

She shook out her thoughts. No. No going there. That was all off limits.

Chaise as a nun, that was her new motto. Romance, lust, desire, urge, all gone. None of that.

Gryffindor next had Charms class with Professor Flitwick. It was shared with Ravenclaw, one of her favorite houses. They were so easy to understand. Education was their focus. The class was all that captured their attention, not gossip or ruckus. Pure intelligence. She loved it.

It was her impression as a young girl that Gryffindor was the best house to be in. They were brave and famous and good. She begged to be in that house, though she knew she belonged in Ravenclaw.

Why was that decision left to a silly young girl? Why hadn’t the hat realized she was meant for a place where studies were foremost?

One of the Ravenclaw Prefects was Padma Patil. She was the twin of one of the Gryffindor girls, Pavarti.

Padma was the better twin. She was logical and smart and loved to read. They often shared recommendations for pleasure novels.

Hermione took the seat alongside the witch. She was rather buttoned up in her school uniform. The robes were closed at her throat, blue patch the only color. Her hair was straight, black, down to the small of her black. It was kept long every single day. Not a single crease, or updo done, any day of the year.

She greeted Hermione with a polite smile, however it froze on her face. “Are you feeling well?”

“Yeah, sure.”

It was not a conversation she wanted to have. Morning sickness. Drama. Ravenous hunger. Complete exhaustion. The baffling emergence as Draco freaking Malfoy as a friend.

There was a reputation she wanted to keep with the Ravenclaws. They knew her. It would degrade their relationship if they found out what kind of stupidity Hermione engaged in. Their opinion might cause them to sever ties.

That would be a blow she couldn’t withstand.

“I just haven’t been feeling well,” she added, so that there was some explanation to her appearance. If Ravenclaws were good at anything, it was smelling an inconsistency.

Padma frowned. “Oh. I’m sorry. Go see Madame Pomphrey, perhaps. That is what she’s there for.”

Madame Pomphrey. Hospital Wing. It was the purpose of both. They employed her so that the students were tended to with appropriate care.

She’d dismissed the idea because secrecy was key. Ronald had ruined that for her. It wouldn’t be long before a professor learned of her condition. Why not reveal it herself to find some comfort? Her stomach was the bane of her existence at the moment, and she wasn’t certain she’d survive nine months without eating.

There were medicines available to muggle expectant mothers. The magical community had to have potions or elixirs available, too.

Charms went quick. It was easy to focus on the task at hand when half the class was just as attentive as she was. An added bonus was that her stomach had settled.

When Professor Flitwick dismissed the students from his lesson, both houses hurried down to the Great Hall. Lunch was served. The steam wafted up through the corridors. It sped their footsteps. A rising murmur of excitement spread through the groups. Hungry bellies ached to be fed. Hers did, too. She doubted that she might tolerate much of anything except a small mouthful. If that.

Still, she joined her peers in the expected routine of the day. Lunch was a relaxed affair compared to supper when houses were encouraged to remain together, ending their day with their friends and close peers of whom shared their similar interests.

The melding of house colors was spotted throughout the grand room. Four long tables filled the giant space, at their helm an equally long table horizontal. The headmaster and professors displayed themselves at their own midday meal, same as their students. Few were missing, of course. Professor Snape never took lunch. He worked on his own projects during that time. Madame Hooch took her lunch outside where she monitored her heart rate as she exercised during her break in classes.

The Gryffindor table was loud with happenings of their days. Plates were clattered. Wizards and witches stacked their plates high, laughed with their friends, spilled their pumpkin juice, and were jolly.

It did not feel like her place any longer. She was above what their minds worried about.

She thought she might join the Ravenclaw table. They were accepting enough. Quiet. They kept to themselves and readied for another round of classes after the meal.

Hermione dismissed the idea. Ravenclaw might notice her repulsion by certain foods. Their minds worked faster than most. It would talk all of ten minutes for the discovery of her secret to be throughout their ranks.

“This way, Granger.” Draco gently brushed against her shoulder. “Come sit with us.”

Crabbe and Goyle led the way, as Draco followed, and Hermione trailed their end. Her fingers tapped against her thigh. Lunch with the Slytherins was new. She never punctured their bubble on that side of the hall. They could be standoffish with their space. It was best to give them a wide burden.

Surprisingly, her disruption of their house did not raise an eye. They continued on with their meal without a blink of distaste.

Draco sat at her right with Goyle directly across him, and Crabbe just across from her. They were quiet as they ate. Each one used their utensils like they would in a formal dinner. They were happy to eat every dish offered atop their spread.

She was much pickier with her selection. A few carrot sticks, a handful grapes, and rosemary roasted potatoes. Those were her favorite. She knew it was bound to disrupt her belly, but she did not want to resist the soft comfort of their taste.

“This is unacceptable,” a voice from a few seats down commented. It was steady and rather withdrawn. “There are no vegan options that aren’t crudités. Are there no accommodations for those with dietary restrictions?”

The short-haired witch waved her hand across the plate. “Are we expected to survive off these? What about those with gluten allergies? These dishes are full of gluten. And lactose.”

Her plate was similar to Hermione’s. Sparse pickings.

Slytherin was a subdued table. They kept to themselves. It was not silent, by any means. Most of them talked. The energy amongst them was calm, serene, a confidence in each other that forwent the urge to raise their tones above a normal rate.

Verbal altercations were a constant at the lion table. Their high energies and moral high ground left them constantly battling for superiority. Wands were drawn at times when arguments became personal. Staff would get involved, detention issued. It was a whole ordeal.

Hermione rather like the relaxed state of the Slytherin house. Her pulse was not jacked high in tension every minute at the statement of something innocent being blown out of proportion.

Draco’s group was the only one that seemed unusually quiet. It had to be her presence that quieted their voices.

“I think I’m going to go,” she said.

The blonde raised his gaze to hers. “Where to?”

“Hospital.” She shrugged. “I might as well try to get a potion, seeing as the whole school knows anyway.”

He grabbed hold of his goblet and sipped the contents until it was empty. A black napkin was dabbed at his lips before he gave his casual ‘see you later’ to his friends.

“I’ll walk you,” he replied to her quizzical look. “Can’t have falling ill on the way there, can I?”

She trailed behind him as he moved through the room. His rolled cuffs and relaxed tie caught her eye. As it did for other witches as they passed.

“You’ll miss class,” she pointed out.

“Free period.”

“It won’t be fun. They might say something personal about my girly parts.”

He snorted. “What? Like I don’t know what you’ve got going on down there?” The grey of his sockets swirled with humor. “Relax, Granger. I’m not going to ninny out.”

Wizards in her experience often did. A girl’s body grossed them out. One whisper of the word “vagina” had them scrambling for something else to think about.

She pondered why straight men were like that when they obviously knew she had a vagina. Sure, she expected someone not interested in her to be awkward about the business of what was inside her pants, but why did wizards allegedly interested, sexually, find her body so disturbing? More over, disgusting. They were the ones that liked it!

The hospital wing was only a floor higher. They ascended a lonely stair until the large double doors came into view. It was the only set on that side of the stair. Within were rows and rows of beds of white and privacy screens to hide the fact that it was all in the open of one room.

It was run by a healer and school’s matron, Madame Pomphrey. She was a witch with a kind voice but became stern when she had to. Which was often seeing as all her patients were young students with a need to be constantly entertained.

She wore a white apron overtop peachy colored dresses. It was a dated style seen in the portraits of witches of the past hundred years. Her grey locks rested tight atop her head. A set of watchful blue eyes pierced past the rosy cheeks and fair complexion. She might have looked the part of a cheerful woman with the mind of a tulip, but those blue eyes held a wisdom that beckoned a respect of her powers. No other healer had been quite as successful at her post as she. It was a great deal of accomplishment.

Draco pushed one of the doors open and allowed Hermione to pass through.

The matron dusted her hands against her apron. “My, my. Mister Malfoy and Miss Granger. What can I do for you today?”

“She’s sick,” Draco said.

Hermione sputtered. “Well, only a little. My stomach is upset. I thought there might be a potion that can settle it.”

Madame Pomphrey smiled. “Of course there is. Wouldn’t be matron of this school if I didn’t know how to cure tummy aches, now would I? Come, come. Pick a bed. No. Not that one. The first one.”

The wizard plopped into the chair alongside the bed. One of his feet rested against the railing of the bed frame. His knee swung back and forth in his leisure.

“So happy this is so relaxing for you.” She snipped.

He chuckled as he waited.

Hermione took the foot of the bed. Her feet rested at the floor, bum leaned against the stiff mattress. Both hands held onto the foot board, ready to hold on for dear life at what was bound to happen if she didn’t convince the healer to just toss her a potion.

The elderly witch appeared with her wand. “Deep breath for me. I’m going to start a scan.”

Cue the panic.

“Scan? Can’t you just assign me a vial of potion. I’m sure that’ll work.”

“It’s a quick one. Don’t you worry. Best to diagnose the issue, dear. Save ourselves the headache of guessing.”

Madame Pomphrey was confident in herself. She casted the spell with a smile. Her face faltered. Silence crept through. The results were there in front of her face. Clear as day. She appraised the patient in her bed and shook her head in disbelief.

The spell disintegrated. “Let’s cast that again.”

The nervous chuckle died to eerie quiet.

“I’m just going to be a minute, dear. Wait right here.” She scurried away.

Draco clicked his tongue. “You know who she is contacting, don’t you?”

Hermione sighed. “My options were…?”

“Starve to a skeleton, of course.”

She growled in displeasure. Starving was not an option. She was at the ends of sanity with only a couple months under her belt. An entire pregnancy was impossible.

Sure enough, only ten minutes passed before the head of Gryffindor house, Professor McGonagall emerged from behind the double doors. Her face was stretched taut. She found the waiting face of the matron where they engaged in urgent, hushed discussion.

Hermione fidgeted with the strands of her robe as she listened to their whispers of disbelief. It reminded her of all whom she’d let down. The disappointment they felt in her was unbearable.

Water rimmed her eyes. She sniffed.

A body settled down on the bed beside her and wrapped her in a side hug. It patted her opposite arm gently. “You’re still their golden girl.”

She scoffed. “Right. I’ll be the front page of the Hogwarts flyer. ‘I got knocked up here’.” Her eyes rolled. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they expel me for this.”

“They wouldn’t dare.”

“They would if they thought I was too much of a risk,” she said hurried. Her lungs required a shaky breath. “They’ll Obliviate me.”

“An infant isn’t a risk,” Draco snarled. “There is a chance that baby will be magical, just like you. They can’t Obliviate you.”

“Let’s hope that is true.”

The discussion of the elderly witches came to a close. They approached the hospital bed together and greeted her. Madame Pomphrey refused to meet Hermione’s gaze. Professor McGonagall was focused on the student at her side.

Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger weren’t known as close friends. Or anything, except top students.

The Gryffindor witch peered through her rimless glasses with beady eyes. “Mister Malfoy would you consider stepping outside so we might speak to Miss Granger alone?”

Alone? No. She couldn’t suffer the instance alone.

“Please. I asked him here.”

“There might be some sensitive information exchanged here. It’s best done in private.”

Hermione nodded. “I understand. And I want him here.”

There was resistance in the idea. Draco wasn’t bothered either way. He waited with his arms crossed at his chest, almost dissatisfied with the interaction so far.

It put pressure on the two witches to comply.

McGonagall produced her twisted lengthy wand from her robes. “May I?”

She nodded. “Of course.”

“Corprelare,” she declared in a steady voice.

It read back the same results she received two months prior. Pregnant.

Both McGonagall and Pomphrey were astounded by the results. Their head shook, unable to believe what was read back to them as truth. Their voices turned low and steady as they touched her shoulder. It felt as though Hermione was a volatile maniac rather than a pregnant teenager.

The looks on their faces overwhelmed her thin strength. Her face fell to her hands.

“Special exceptions will have to be made,” Madame Pomphrey pronounced. “Regular visits to check on mum and baby. Extra dietary. Charmed uniforms.”

The professor nodded along. There was no doubt that shock was at the front of her mind. Hermione Granger was a school Prefect, had top marks in every class, was smartest than the entire student body, yet was impregnated sixth year. It did not look promising.

A thought roused McGonagall from her thoughts. She turned to the pair of them.

“Are you the father, Mister Malfoy?”

Hermione couldn’t expand her eyes any wider. Her jaw unhinged from its seat.

“So what if I am?” Draco replied.

Much to Hermione’s shock.

“I’ll be writing to both your parents,” McGonagall replied in that stern tone only used for punishments. Her eyes drilled into the both of them. “This is quite a serious situation you find yourselves in. A wee child is nothing to scoff at. It is a lifelong commitment. You may not be romantically involved forever, but you’ll be linked by a child for the rest of your lives. Are you ready for that, Mister Malfoy?”

Lifelong commitment. Her hands started to shake. No! She wasn’t ready. It was so long. So long.

Draco leaned forward. “I’ve been taught nothing but lifelong commitment. My family believes in it. Quite thoroughly, in fact. I’m certain I can handle it.”

Hermione gasped. “Draco, don’t - .”

“Hermione deserves special accommodations. Something outside Gryffindor Tower,” he demanded.

“Away from her house. Whatever for?” Professor McGonagall barked.

“They’ve done nothing but cause her distress. Tease her, taunt her. She can’t sleep or eat because of it. It’s made her suffer. And that isn’t safe for her or the baby, is it?”

Madame Pomphrey held a wicked frown as she lowered herself to meet Hermione’s gaze. “Is this true?”

A line of water rose through her eyes. “Yeah. It’s true.”

“We have to do something, Minerva. Quickly.” The healer was quite the bulldog when it came to her patients. She was filled with purpose to provide the best care. It made her an exceptional matron. “An expectant mother should be getting all the food and rest she needs.”

“I know, Poppy. There are many things to consider. This has not been done before. The Ministry will have to be notified. The Board of Governors, too. They’ll have to decide the proper way to handle it.”

“Think of the baby.”

“I’ll have to alert Albus.” She sighed. The weight of years of dealing with underage children was wearing on her patience. “Until then, you are dismissed. My threat, however, still stands. Both your parents will be notified.”

Hermione’s eyes blared with urgency at the friend alongside her. It was to be her and Ron’s punishment for intimate relations on school grounds, not Draco. It was not fair. He was the only good one out of the situation.

“Come on, Granger. Let’s get you some fresh air,” he said. One hand pulled on her arm toward the doors.

She shook her head. “What are you doing? She’s going to write your parents. Tell her the truth. Tell her. You’re going to get in trouble.”

Still, he refused to turn around. The double doors spat them back into the body of Hogwarts castle.

“You could do much worse than me as a baby daddy, Granger. Like Weasley, perhaps.”

The chuckle at his own joke was unappreciated. The gravity of the situation surpassed his head.

She pulled out of his grasp. “What the hell are you talking about? You’re going to be punished for something you didn’t do.”

“Something wrong with me being the father of your baby?”

“Of course not.” Her hands ran through her curls, tearing through the tangles. Just that morning, Draco’s fingers had been the ones that snaked through their depths. “I’d prefer you to the one I’ve got. But that doesn’t change the truth. This is Ron’s fault, Ron’s and my responsibility. Not yours. I can’t let you do this.”

He waved off. Waved. Like it was nothing but buying a cuppa. “Come off it. My family has taught me responsibility since the moment I could talk.”

“For your wife, girlfriend, job, your family,” she explained. “Not for some random witch.”

“What’s it matter my reasoning? I’m offering.”

She wrapped her arms around her chest. “Offering what exactly?”

His hands plunged into his pockets. A gentle raise of his shoulders, a response. When she gave him a curious look, his lips exhaled a sharp breath.

“Be your baby daddy.”

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Wh-why-why? Why would you want to?”

“I’ll do better than Weasley.”

It still wasn’t hitting her ears right. There was no way that he was serious enough to want to raise a child he didn’t create, with her.

Draco was not an idiot by any stretch of imagination. He was highly intelligent. So why did a wizard with the entire world at his feet want to be held by a child’s grasping hands?

“You want to raise a baby. With me.”

Not only was he smart. He was popular. Witches loved him. Wizards either hated him or envied him. He was handsome, educated, and wildly talented on the Quidditch Pitch. Everyone wanted him.

What Hermione couldn’t understand was why he wanted her…wanted this.

She shook her head. “We don’t even know each other.”

“Plenty of time to find out, isn’t there?” He pointed at her stomach. “Seeing as you’ve got nine months until that little thing is ready to be born. Should be enough time to figure it out.”

Something was off. What he was saying started to make sense. More so, she wanted to do it really bad.

“But why?” She questioned. “Why me?”

“Don’t read into it, Granger. I’m being a stand-up gentleman. I owe it to the magical community to support all children born. Even the ones that aren’t mine.”

It might’ve been the shock talking or the fear of being totally alone, but whatever it was, agreed that he was the better choice. As far as anyone might know, Draco Malfoy was the father of her child.

Lucky he was.

The special accommodations were put in place almost immediately. A suite was prepared the next day, ready for her to move in the day after that. It was a private bedchamber with an attached loo and spare space. It was filled with a desk and bookshelf, but once the baby was born, it would be converted into a nursery. A free-standing tub in the loo was a grateful addition. It’d help with the many body aches pregnancy gave her.

All the professors were notified to give her ample time between classes. It was a kind gesture, but unnecessary. She refused to be late for any class.

Madame Pomphrey created a small space at the back of the hospital wing just for Hermione. It had a rocking chair fitted with thick cushions. Books on prenatal care were purchased for the healer to brush up on her skills. She was rather cautious. She warned Hermione of carrying the weight of schoolbooks and asked if it was possible for Draco to carry them for her. Hermione blushed and said she’d figure something out.

Draco was curious about her new living arrangement. He followed her back from lunch to inspect it himself.

“Impressive.” He stretched. His arms were rather long when she saw them extended from his body. Slender, same as his legs. “Teenage pregnancy not so bad now, eh?”

“Hardly worth it.” She groaned. “I’d take being anonymous back over this.”

He gave a derisive snort. “You were never anonymous.”

“I do believe you’re mistaken. I’ve never felt so many eyes on me. Never.”

“That’s because they did it behind your back, Granger. They all knew who you were. Brightest witch of the age. Smartest in the century, a muggle born none the less.” He tapped his temple. “Just because they didn’t show it. They were all interested in you. Believe me. I heard my fair share.”

An open doorway attracted his attention. His grey eyes gazed up at the raised level with curiosity twisting and churning. It was clear the thoughts were processed in his mind.

“Really?” She asked. “What’ve you heard?”

“What is that?”

“The nursery,” she replied.

He bounded up the three steps onto the threshold of the room. A sour retch contorted his face.

“This is where my baby is expected to live? It’s god-awful.”

“I thought it was rather roomy,” she called up.

His baby. My baby. The words still rang wrong in her ear. A handsome wizard like that did not copulate with bushy-haired witches like her.

Draco emerged through the doorway shaking his head. “Look at this color. It’s depressing. This is what lonely, depressed professors paint their walls right before they curse their brains upon them. Salazar, I can’t believe they gave you this. As a nursery. It’s horrendous.”

Hermione had to stifle her laughter to shield his pride. He was a peculiar wizard now that she witnesses it up close. There were many instances that made him tick wrong. A plain room being one.

It was morose. Not the place she’d have picked for a blossoming new life, but considering the circumstance, she was grateful they permitted it at all.

“We can redecorate once the baby is born,” she explained, hoping it might lift his distaste.

He hopped down to the main floor. “I might have liked black better than that. Beige. That’s no color for an infant unless we want him to be a bore.”

She smirked. “And what if it’s a girl? Fuchsia.”

He recoiled back like she’d just sent a stunner his way. “Let’s leave the decorating to me then, shall we? Daddy will be the one with the paint.”

A snicker erupted from her lips before she could think better of it. She shielded her mouth, but it was already heard.

Draco tilted his head. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“You thought it was funny. What? What was funny?”

His face hardened. An icy frost overtook his gaze.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. The idea that you’ll be daddy to my baby. It’s just a little strange yet. To think about.”

“Oh.” His body relaxed. “Well get used to it. I’m here to stay.”

There was a small loveseat in the corner of the room opposite her four-poster bed. It was a soft purple. Three large pillows rested at its back. Draco helped himself to a seat. His eyes drifted over, filled with some warmth as he gestured to the seat at his side.

She took it, sinking closer than she’d ever been to him before.

“How did your parents take the news then?” He asked.

A letter had come that morning for her. It contained an array of statements. Mostly support and confusion over what they will be permitted to do as muggles. They were unable to enter school grounds. Magical law.

The parchment was pulled from her pocket. “Rather timid to what I thought it might. They were adamant about one thing though. Stay away from Ron. Wish they’d have told me that years ago.”

She sighed as she folded the pages back to their intended size and tucked them away. The comfort of their support was tenfold. It helped calm the stress in her heart. The morning sickness eased, too. Perhaps she was her own worst enemy.

“Didn’t happen to tell them he was the father, did you?” His tone was firm, soft between the two of them.

“No. Unless they had asked, I wasn’t going to. Now I suppose, I’ll say your name instead.”

They both settled to silence. Their plan was still in its infancy. Neither had discussed strategy or what the future held if it meant they were going to be committed together, forever. That was a long time to consider.

“Did you get a letter from your parents yet?”

He nodded. The smirk on his face was not one of triumph, but it wasn’t fake either. Hermione was not able to decipher the truth behind his expression.

“My mother has been ‘rattled to her core’ I believe is the way she phrased it.”

Hermione frowned. She thought that might happen. “I’m sorry, Draco.”

“I think they’re horrified that I had a girlfriend they didn’t know about more than anything.” He chuckled. “It is all they went on about.”

“Do you think they’ll expect us to be dating?”

A fluttering pitter patter of her heart did not aid her cause to be calm. The thought of being linked to Draco Malfoy at all was surprising, but dating him? An actual date. That was more than she thought possible.

A mousy girl with buck teeth fixed only by a year of painful braces that frightened most of the wizards away, was now on the arm of the most exclusive wizard in Hogwarts. That itself was something she never dreamed of. She never even allowed the thought. It was beyond her capability to catch the eye of Draco, so she never tried.

Ron had been a reasonable match. They were alike in their house and attractive level. Attractive, but not very. As a couple, they made sense. No one gawked at their pairing like it was inconceivable.

That was a fate that rested with Draco, a number much higher than her own.

“They are traditional,” he answered. “So I expect so.”

They had not discussed dating.

Her fingers tapped at the flesh of her arms. “How will that work?”

“Just like this, I suppose. Comfortable, don’t you think? I hardly expect they’ll demand I mount you to prove it.”

Air gushed out of Hermione’s mouth in surprise. A burning blush spread across her face.

It made Draco laugh a deep belly sound. “You’re the one pregnant and that makes you blush?”

“Sorry. You’re right. I’m the slag now.”

“Don’t say that.” He shook his head. The upturned nose wrinkled in disgust. “I didn’t say that.”

They fell into a quiet. It consumed the air with a thick tension.

Hermione raced for relief. “Perhaps we should establish some rules. It is possible that your parents may visit Hogwarts. Mine can’t because they’re muggles, but yours can. I’ll bet Professor Snape requested a meeting.”

“Well.” Draco shook out his blonde strands, straight as arrows and white as moonlight. “We will just have to get used being around one another.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“So be sure to be head over heels in love with me.” His lips twisted into a proud smirk.

She rolled her eyes. “Be delusional. Got it.”

The moment their eyes connected, they both fell into a fit of laughs. It helped erase the building intensity that their circumstance required.

“Anything else?” Hermione asked as she dragged a finger below her eye.

It was brilliant to laugh again. Truly laugh.

He nodded. “Yeah. We’ll have to kiss. You know. To make it credible.”

She froze. “Kiss?”

“Yes.”

“You?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed with question. “Why does that fluster you?”

“I don’t know.” She tucked a bundle of curls behind her ear. “Because you’re you.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know. You’re Draco Malfoy. Every witches wet dream or whatever.” One look from his smirking lips filled her with frustration. She smacked his arm, albeit with restraint. “You know what I mean. You are not someone who would be interested in me in a million years.”

“Nonsense. I’m the father of your child. Daddy Draco. Those witches can’t have me anyhow.” They both smiled. She like the way he beamed when she did. He fed off how she responded. His body leaned closer. All at once, his scent was through her head, touching her thoughts. “Maybe some practice is in order. Until you’re more comfortable, of course.”

He brought his lips closer. Eyes focused in on hers. She brought herself forward past the gap of no return and jutted her lips against his soft moist stunning ones, enjoying the sensation of his face near hers. Her eyes closed, feeling every moment. The smell, the heat of his breath, the gentle touch of his hands around her wrists. He cradled them in his open palms, supporting her but not forcing her there.

As they pulled away, a grin crossed her lips. The sweet taste of his mouth remained on hers.

“See?” He said, “Nothing to be scared of.”

“I think I’m a little rusty.” Her tongue ran along her lower lip, unable to stop herself from the pink wet of his parted lips.

“Again?”

She nodded eagerly. His lips aligned with hers, pressed harder into her mouth until her entire breath was sucked into his throat, and curled the corners of his mouth as their connection stayed.

“Better?’ He asked.

The total bliss clouded her eyes. “Yeah. I can do that…anytime. Anytime you want.”


	2. Part II

**Part II:**

* * *

Word of her pregnancy spread like wildfire. It was quicker than when it was secret. There had been questions as to Hermione’s removal from Gryffindor Tower as to what had happened. A school-wide announcement was made to address it which had been more uplifting than embarrassing. Gryffindor, too, had been privately gathered and admonished for their behavior against a student in need. Professor McGonagall made certain that her disappointment was known in her own personal gaggle of students.

What spread on the underside of that was the fact that Draco Malfoy now lingered around. Belief of his siring of the offspring raised focus. There were whispers of one-night stands and ongoing secret relations beneath the nose of Ron Weasley.

It was only a week since the declaration of her pregnancy throughout the school. She was still given a wide berth by the other students.

All except Slytherin who had silently folded her inside their ranks. Pansy started finding her out in the library, studying alongside her, silent but pleasant. Crabbe, whose name was Vincent, saved a lemon blueberry tart when she missed breakfast because he knew they were her favorite. She’d burst into tears when he handed it over.

Things in her body were not as wonderful.

It was the first day of her fourth month trapped as a human incubator and the moment her head raised, she was overcome with a worsening urge to vomit. Her head was unable to leave the comfort of the cold stone floor without forcing her to repeatedly dry heave.

If the entire pregnancy continued in a similar fashion, the will to live will have drained away before the baby was born. Her mind did not allow thoughts of the future to linger. It would be hard. Harder than she wished for herself. The creation of a person from her own body was beyond comprehension.

It was happening. Her body changed. One day she’d awoke with nipples tender and swollen. Then it never receded. They were large. And ached. When she was cold, tingles spread throughout her breast, which used to be her chest, as the cold climbed through the flesh like a numbing pain.

Nothing was worse than the morning sickness. This morning was the worst it ever was. She laid against the floor, dressed in pajamas, and in need of the toilet, but the slightest tilt of her head had her over the edge of the toilet bowl.

A clock on the wall showed the time. Breakfast ended in a minute. She could make it if she skipped a morning shower. A spell worked just as well.

She groaned against the ivory tile of the loo floor. Her wand was across the room!

Defense Against the Dark Arts, or DADA, was first in the day. Nonverbal spells were important. One missed lesson set back weeks of other lessons. She could NOT miss it.

Hermione raised from the floor. A strong wave of nausea went straight for her head, as she expected. The stomach-head tag team proved powerful as she struggled across the room like a newborn foal. Salvia surged in thick globs. She felt a tide rise. The stench of bile escaped through her nose, a signal of the pending vomit yet to surface.

The harder she swallowed it back, the harder it resurfaced at the back of her throat demanding let through.

She was not going to let this get the better of her. She’d drag the toilet there if she had to.

A flurry of morning sickness and half buttoned shirt left her against the tile floor, yet again, allowing the cold seep through her pores into the buried surface of her flesh where heat from the constant retching lived. It eased the throbbing headache. That lived behind her forehead impossible to get to.

Her face smashed against the floor in the hopes it might bring some comfort. What little there was, she’d fight for it. It was all she had.

She lost track of time. It traveled differently so low to the ground. Or perhaps, she’d drifted into a light sleep.

Whatever happened, she was roused conscious with a consistent rapping at her door.

“Hello?” She whimpered out.

The low groan of the wooden door creaked open. It was behind her field of vision.

“Mione?” A timid voice called through. It belonged to that of a wizard she’d not spoken to in an eon. It was not really that long, but so much had shifted in her life, that it felt as if years had passed since she was allowed to be innocent.

“In here.” Her arms unwrapped her head and gave a lazy wave. “Well, down here.”

The door latched closed. A shuffling shuffle of steps echoed throughout. It hit her ears louder and louder as they trekked closer.

One eye peaked from behind the iron wall of darkness. A sudden shine of light burned directly to her headache, angering the beast within that clawed out her brains.

Harry took a knee. His hands gently touched her shoulder. “Rough morning?”

“I am kissing the floor. What do you think?”

His breath exhaled in a soft chuckle. “Right. Well, we were worried about you.”

“We?”

Gryffindor was not what he spoke of. They’d written her off three months ago when they turned to Ronald’s gang of bullies rather than house mates.

It was kind enough for Harry to try.

“The class. Professor Quirrell wanted to ensure you were well,” Harry explained. “I was elected as an unbiased party to do the welfare check. I know how you feel about elected positions. Got to help me complete my task, eh?”

His fingers poked her side.

She shook her head. “If I leave this floor, I’m going to coat it with bile.”

“Oh.”

The light overpowered her sense to gaze at him. She shuttered them back to darkness where it eased her mind.

Harry’s presence was a strange feeling. It summoned joy and sadness all at once. His absence in her life was a huge void that she wished hadn’t been needed to be refilled. What ached her heart worse was that it was. He’d been replaced in her heart. Now, she could not imagine a life without her Slytherin friends.

It was not his fault that Ron was his best friend. They put him in an awkward position from the beginning. That did not diminish the hurt of his choice at Ron’s side rather than hers.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He asked. “I’m here. Might as well do something.”

She detested using people for her benefit. It was not fair to interact if she was not giving anything back.

The ache in the back of her throat convinced her to change the policy. “The goblet on the bedside table. Bring it to me, please. I’ve lost all my hydration in the toilet, you see.”

“Of course,” he said.

He placed the goblet next to her face. “Is this okay?”

She nodded. “Thank you. I tried to get it earlier, but this is all the farther I got.”

“Where did you start?”

“Here.” She tapped a section of floor only an arm’s length away. “It was a struggle.”

His nostrils exhaled. “Bullocks. You’ve really found yourself in the shite, haven’t you?”

“Welcome to the shite.” She extended both her arms in a sarcastic ‘Ta Da!’ gesture, complete with fluttering fingers.

Shite did describe the way she felt. Her body was filled with it. Shite, all over.

It was a lonely place to be. Alone on the floor likely coated in vomit, half dressed in uniform with lime green spandex trousers on.

“Ron wanted to come see you,” Harry said; his tone too hopeful. Ronald Weasley was the last wizard on Earth she wanted to see. “Draco, too. Though I suspect you knew that.” She was silent. Her breath locked in her chest. “They drew their wands for the fight for it. Shouting. Swearing. It was all very dramatic. You know Quirrell. He got all flustered, so his stutter acted up. Couldn’t get out a word for a full five minutes. Then Draco and Ron went at it again. It was a whole scene…So, I got appointed as the designated Hermione checker.”

Draco should fight Ron for the right. He should have fought Harry for the right. Neither were her friends. The Slytherin was the only one to show kindness in her time of need.

Oh, and he assumed the role of father to the unborn child. He should have been first in line.

“Yes, well. Job well done. I’m peachy keen.”

“Is that what you want me to tell everyone?”

She nodded. “Yes. Because that’s what I am.”

“Okay,” he said. “As you wish.”

He rose to standing. She felt his presence rise high above her head. The sound of his retreating footsteps, a chorus of angels to her ears.

She wanted to roll in agony. The names of Ron and Harry left behind her, where nothing mattered. A life of stupid Gryffindor pride and blazing boldness coupled with nothing but emptiness. She hadn’t been lonely at their breakup. She’d been lonely the whole time. It was freedom that scared her. Not their absence.

The long creak of the door was the edge of freedom now. Freedom from his upsetting words. The bloody nerve, mentioning that wizard to her.

“For what it is worth, Hermione. I am sorry. I never wanted part of it all.”

That was the last thing she remembered until the door opened back up. Direct light no longer blared against her face. It had to be late morning. She must have drifted asleep, again.

Confident strides tapped against her floors. She felt them round her bed and stopped when the threshold of the loo came into view.

“Salazar. Granger.” Things were tossed atop her bedspread with a thud. A pair of hands touched her shoulders. “Are you alright? What are you doing in hot pants?”

“Resting,” she answered. “What are you doing?”

“How long have you been down here?”

She thought a moment. What time was it even?

“I wake up at six thirty every morning.”

His voice changed from concerned to irritated. “You were like this when Potter checked on you? Is he the only wizard born without a bleeding backbone?”

Draco helped Hermione collect herself for life above the ground level. Her mind swirled. Elevation a sudden high.

Her headache was gone. As was her nausea. Now all she felt was unstoppable hunger. Seething need for food.

“Did he at least help you do something?” He set her atop her mattress. The fluffy duvet welcomed her home. She slid her legs through the silky chill, suddenly happy to meld through the softness into her own cloud. “I knew I should have demanded harder. But that blathering professor hates my voice. It scares him into stutters.”

“He brought me water,” she answered. “And that’s because the only time you speak to him is to disagree. You look so angry when you do that.”

He handed over the clear goblet. “ _My hero_. The fabulous Harry Potter can fetch water. So glad it wasn’t too heavy for him.” He scowled. “I can’t control my disagreements. Sometimes he is misinformed.”

“I think it is because you do not say anything else the entire class. Silent unless provoked.” The cool water relieved the dry tissues of her mouth. A lackadaisical tongue laid like a beached whale in her jaw, dry and useless. Water splashed it back alive. “I couldn’t even move from the floor without vomiting. What would you have done? Given me water and told me to rest, right?”

A wrinkle of disapproval reappeared atop his nose. “No. I’d have fetched Professor Snape for a better potion than that silly old Pomphrey is giving you. Those things haven’t worked once.”

There was a tray with a bag of ginger crisps and a sandwich. He handed them over.

Her stomach demanded them immediately.

“Besides, I can’t just toss my thoughts out there for everyone to hear.”

“Well why not?” She groaned in pure delight as swiss cheese coated her taste buds in such goodness that her eyes rolled back into her head. “I could eat five of these.”

“It’s not easy to do,” he answered.

“You do it just fine with me.”

“That’s different.”

“But why?”

All her life she had written off sandwiches as basic flavors more convenient than tasty, but as the fluffy wheat bread melted with layers of cheese and sliced ham and a slice of tomato, she was in raptures at its beauty. It was exactly what she needed. And she needed more.

Her eyes flittered back to the tray. There was another bundled sandwich.

The violent growling of her belly caught Draco’s ear. The other sandwich tossed into her open hands.

“We’re friends. We’re comfortable,” he explained. “I don’t know the entire class like that.”

She paused. “Draco, you’ve spoken easily to me since we started talking. You invited yourself into my comfort, actually. Did not seem so difficult, then, did it?”

Draco curled one leg atop the bottom right corner of the bed, back against the column that supported the canopy above. His hair was tousled. Devil-may-care way. It was cute. He kept himself buttoned-up, formal, proper, shoes shined every morning type of hygiene, but those teased, faux messy locks were to die for.

His hands tapped at his knee as she inhaled every last piece of food he’d brought. “Well, maybe I just knew that I’d be comfortable with you. Perhaps, from afar, over the course of years, I believed that our compatibility might make you an easy associate to associate with.”

“No need to tease me, Draco.”

“What if I’m not teasing?” His gaze was hesitant to find hers. She tried. She poured her desire to look at him into everything she had with her amber brown eyes with the hopes it might overcome his resistance. “What if I’m being honest?”

“That would mean you’ve watched me for years,” she said.

“Perhaps.”

Anxious was one thing that Draco was not. He did not fidget or express energy without purpose. The slight shaking of his leg, the tapping of his fingers against his knee, and the obsession with brushing off invisible dirt went against his charted behavior.

And she knew it was not typical. She studied him. When they were together, when her mind was not bent over a gross toilet bowl expelling the day’s punishment, she examined the subtly of his behavior.

It was all with good purpose. If he was to be the father of her child, she had to know him. Intimately. His likes and dislikes. The way he responded to stress, how he felt about things, what he would pass on. It was of great interest to uncover as much as she could before the birth.

“In regard to what?” Her forehead wrinkled as she pondered. “Top marks. Because I was your competition.”

He snorted. “No. Not our grades.”

“Then what?”

Their eyes finally joined together, swirling in deep concentration at the others expression. She felt the warmth of his appraisal spread down her cheeks throughout the rest of her flesh. A strong emotion filtered through his gaze onto her.

It was tangible between them. A sweet lure to one another. Her fingers longed to raise from the fluffy down of the duvet to feel that sensation at its source.

She’d thought he was on the verge of words. His breath finally exhaled from the bottom of his chest ripe with response.

A sudden knock at the door stole the air of his words. He hopped to his feet.

“Better not be that bloody Potter back for a refill,” he mumbled.

The door swung open. Standing in the threshold was an emerald cloaked witch with a pointed nose and small glasses around her neck. Her lips flexed in a taut, pale line as Draco met her gaze.

“Mister Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall greeted. Her boots clicked against the floor as she entered. “You missed your morning lectures, Miss Granger.”

“I know, professor. I’m sorry. My morning sickness was awful,” she explained. Her hands pulled the cover higher up her hips. Being half dressed in pajama trousers under the pressing eye of a witch was not ideal. “I could not do anything but lay on the floor.”

The door latched closed. Draco remained standing, quiet. He watched the witch traverse the room as she inspected.

“Madame Pomphrey assigned a potion to ease your stomach. Did you take it?”

She ran her fingers through her curls as a makeshift comb. “I did. It still didn’t help. I need something different. More potent.”

“Is that what you believe, Mister Malfoy?” The gaze turned to the blonde.

He nodded. “She missed class, professor. Hermione wouldn’t miss a class if she was missing a leg. I’d say something should be done. Even if it means having each professor teach her individually.”

The elderly witch gave a soft, surprised chuckle. “Oh, Mister Malfoy. That won’t be necessary. There is no reason Miss Granger should be sequestered away to this room for the duration of her pregnancy. These are not medieval times. Witches are not set alight with flames to cleanse the soul or whipped at a town square.” She turned to address Hermione next. “We shall talk to Severus. His talented hand at Potions will aid us in a cure for this illness for as long as it lasts. I trust you can find your way to his office?”

“I can help, professor.”

“Correct me if I am wrong, but Slytherin has the Pitch booked today for practice, do they not?” She folded her hands together. “As Seeker, you’ll be expected to be alongside your teammates.”

“Hermione needs me,” Draco said.

“To what? Find a professors office? Is she not a grown woman with two legs of her own?” She shooed the wizard toward the door. “Miss Granger will have it perfectly handled in your absence. Must hop along. Wouldn’t want to miss that practice if you’re to have any chance against Gryffindor.”

It was no secret that Professor McGonagall was serious about Quidditch. She prided herself on the house team she managed. Angelina Johnson was a prodigy of the professor, whom played in a number of tournaments back in her day. Together, they crafted a practice plan that set the team apart. Harry Potter sealed their team with an unstoppable line. Even Ron held a position as Keeper. Not that he was much good.

Draco Malfoy’s face fell to a foul expression as he opened the door. His resistance clear through his actions. He did not want to leave.

He did, however, with the abrupt closure of the suite door at the hand of Professor McGonagall.

“Miss Granger, I’ve been meaning to speak with you privately,” the woman said. Her face lost all tension. “Forgive my brush with Mister Malfoy, but he is impossible to stop once he’s set, isn’t he?”

Hermione agreed. “He does not give up easily.”

“Does that trickle into other aspects of your assumed relationship?”

It was a curious thing to say to a person. As was the strange cloud of tension between them. Her words tightened the air with an understated implication that was beyond Hermione’s thoughts.

The brunette shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Long robes of emerald velvet trailed the witch’s boots. “What I mean to say is, has this child been conceived in such an occurrence of his focus? The inability to take no as an answer.”

Her jaw dropped. She couldn’t believe what she heard.

“Professor!” She gasped. “I – I can’t believe you’d - .”

“Just answer the question, my dear.”

“How can I? You think he raped me!”

“Please understand my intention. It was not to be insensitive. I am fond of Mister Malfoy myself, but certain facts cannot be ignored,” McGonagall said. “A wizard like that comes with a hefty price, so many witches are willing to pay. Looks are not everything, Miss Granger. A wizard’s substance is tenfold compared to wealth and allure. I cannot help but be skeptical over a connection between the pair of you. Do you understand?”

A flicker of black caught Hermione’s eye. It was just outside her window. The fluttering of fabric in the wind, like a cloak. Draco’s cloak!

The professor should have known that a Slytherin like Draco would find his own way.

She kept her breathing normal, as her lungs overfilled with excitement that he came back.

“I don’t,” Hermione admitted with a burning need for vengence. “We are both matched in intelligence and skill. We are respectful. His family may have money here, but my parents aren’t poor by any means either. We both are from good stock as far as that is concerned.”

“Now, now. We are only conversing. About safety. Safety of you and the baby.”

She blinked fast. “If you think Draco would hurt either one of us, you’re wrong.”

It was obvious that the professor crossed a line. Hermione’s tone implied it. She was firm in resolve that Draco was not the wizard he appeared to be, even by her own assumption of years prior. He was kind, quiet, and loyal.

The playboy wizard reputation did not fit him well now that she knew him closely. He held witches in high regard. Love mattered. Respect and dignity, too. His family raised him a gentleman. Not one thing would cause him to toss any of those things aside.

It was deplorable a teacher would buy in to those stereotypes about a student! Unbelievable.

The elder witch sensed the change in the air. She put out her arms as if to steady the crumbling foundation of their relationship.

“There have been things said regarding this pregnancy,” she explained.

“Like what?”

“You wanted a termination, for one.” Her back aligned straight, as if the high ground was suddenly hers. As if Hermione would crumble to begging forgiveness for doubting her. “Who else but Mister Malfoy would spread such viscous lies?”

Of course, the staff heard those. Why wouldn’t they? Ron had ensured her entire image was ruined through every means possible.

She sighed, defeated by the reach of a private thought in personal confidence with who she assumed was a dear friend. “It isn’t a lie. I wanted to terminate. And Draco didn’t tell anyone that. Ron did. He was angry at me for breaking up with him and he set to say whatever he wanted to hurt me.”

The wind beneath the professor’s sails died to a calm. There were no words that seemed to emerge.

It was a chance to look out the window. Hermione stole a glance. There was the very end of a broomstick in view and the hem of a black cloak. He was still there.

She bit back a smile of excitement.

“If you don’t mind, professor.” She looked at the door. “I’d like to dress and find Professor Snape.”

“Of course.” The professor nodded.

It was agony to watch how slow she left. Literal needles were under her nails as she waited for the door to latch closed, finally free of the probing gaze.

Hermione’s feet hit the floor and rushed to the window. There were two panes of glass latched in the center with little brass hooks. They flew open with a gust of wind.

“She could have seen you.”

He smirked. “Who’s to say I’m not practicing?”

“Your face pressed against the glass does,” she retorted.

The icy breeze brushed against her cheeks, stinging the warmth away. It was a brisk reminder of the pending change of the weather. Days were no longer illuminated with glowing light for hours. Clouds rolled in. The sun was an absent face in the blinding chill.

Death was a gloomy passing. The country died as frost encroached the lands with its white, spiky spread.

Soon enough, the atmosphere would be uninhabitable. Their lives would be contained to the dense stone walls.

“The snitch might’ve flown in.” A surge of air brushed his broom against the wall. He quickly regained control. “Are you going to let me in or not?”

“You have practice,” she stated.

“You need medicine.”

“You have obligations.” The brow arched up a magnificent height.

Draco climbed through the sill. The entire length of his broom followed.

His Quidditch uniform was a handsome bright green. “You are one of those obligations.”

Her crossed her arms. “The team should be whole when they practice. You’re a part of the team…you should be there.”

“I can walk you quick,” he said. “I’d hate to appear flippant with your pregnancy. Doesn’t shine a favorable light down on me, does it?”

She smiled. “Honestly. I can manage a walk that far, don’t you think?” Her fingers brushed through the flowing fabric of his Quidditch cloak. It flowed through her fingers. So soft, elegant, dainty. “You’ve poured on the importance of personal responsibility rather thick with McGonagall. I’d say that the commitment to the team is considered one of those, and you know how Professor Snape feels about Slytherin team.”

It was friendly competition between the opposing head of houses. Professor Snape coached his team hard. Professor McGonagall forced her team harder. Then extra Slytherin practices were called. More Gryffindor ones then, too. Early morning, mid-day, evening, midnight practices, sometimes. It was a wildly inappropriate misuse of the study body to force them so fully at the sacrifice of their studies.

Draco Malfoy was one of the best Quidditch players. It was what started his popularity in the front place.

A grin split his face. “Bested by the best, as always. Don’t you ever quit with it, Granger?”

“Hey now. I thought we agreed we’d treat each other as equals. You are the smartest wizard and I am the smartest witch.”

“It is a wonder how we didn’t get together sooner.”

The response to that was immediate blush. It stole from the mature facade she had for herself when she blushed like a schoolgirl at the slightest bit of attention of a wizard. The pink spread across her flesh burned and forced her eyes to her hands.

She withdrew the fingering of his cloak for twirling the edges of her hair. At least her curls could not get any worse. Of course, nothing else of hers could either. There were a few blemishes on her chin that shined a spotlight for everyone to see. The lack of color gave her flesh a rather dull, yet sweaty sheen.

Draco’s constant support left little mystique to cultivate. He watched her vomit face-first in a toilet. There was no recovering allure from that unseemly situation.

“Alright.” He sighed in defeat. “See you at supper?”

“Sure, yeah.”

He hesitated. “Are you busy afterward?”

She thought for a moment. “I think I’ll study in the library unless - .”

“It’s a date.” His lips curled deviously. “In the library.”

By the time he’d climbed to the window ledge, jumped on his broom and raced out of sight to the Pitch, the smile still hadn’t faded from her face.

His sharp tongue was charming when it wasn’t poised to taunt and tease, although he did a fair amount of it. Playfully. It was his humor. He liked to tease and be teased back. It was the sharp look in his eye that gave him a twisted reputation of being a prat.

That part of him emerged around others, ones that were not within his close circle, often times rambunctious Gryffindors whose mouths ran faster than their brains, that only encouraged whip fast comments. It was not her place to correct him. He was his own wizard. She just frowned and slid away. The absence at his side abandoned his interest in the exchange and had him searching for her rather than hissing at them.

Hermione dressed in a fresh uniform. She wore knee-high stockings, a flowy skirt, the white blouse and black jumper with Gryffindor patch overtop. The tie was not at full height. The pressure at her throat brought back feelings of heaving and it made a terrible cycle of events happen.

Professor Snape’s office was in the dungeons near the potion’s classroom. The Slytherin common room was down there, too. She knew the general vicinity in which it rested. Each house’s common room entrance was only privileged to those in that house as was the password. No other student was privy to the information.

She found the worn wood door framed by two large torches flowing with frantic orange flames. Her hand knocked against the wood. A sad echo reverberated behind.

The dungeons near the classrooms were tainted with the thick scent of chemicals, burning. All the fumes of convoluted potions made a sharp stink within the rooms. Farther away, toward the common room and Professor Snape’s office was given a surprising crisp smell that she liked. Wreaths of woven herbs were displayed upon doors. One hanged above the office door.

Green leaves of eucalyptus and dried lime rinds. There were a few mint leaves to complete their layers of greenery. It crafted a lovely layer to the frigid air of the lower floors of the castle. Nothing like she expected of a dungeon.

Professor Snape opened the door with a realm of black. She was welcomed inside the office with a cloud of silence.

The room was dark. The lack of windows gave a dense layer of black almost impenetrable to the human eye.

One wall was lined with bottles upon bottles. Ancient vials and elixir bottles coated in melted wax and glittery residue from their spent contents.

The desk was both unimpressive and covered in trinkets, papers, notes, open notebooks with scribbles of his precise, thin handwriting. There was a vial bottle filled with half-broken quill feathers. It was a wonder how he got a thing done on that desk.

She inhaled a long breath. It was warm. Really warm. Her hands released the tight hug of herself.

A Slytherin banner was displayed proudly on the wall behind his chair. He took his place right before it. He did not sit, but stand, a figure above her head in the eyes of judgement. The depth of his look brought forth the memory of what it was to be taken aback.

She held her chin high with the hopes it might leech into her insides. They were not so proud of her. Rather they quaked like the clatter of teeth on a cold morning.

“Sir I -.”

“No need to elaborate.” His voice drawled. “I know why you are here.”

“You do?”

“I am not so blind as to disregard the obvious in my students, even if their private lives are their own to lead with as they please. I do, however, find myself privy to their secrets as you youths are often incapable of disguising.”

She blinked back her sadness with a fluttering of her eyelashes. It was the worst blow to have bene given. That backhanded comment as to her stupidity.

Her lips threatened a quiver. All her strength focused to keeping them still.

“Intelligence does not breed wisdom, I’m afraid,” she answered.

“That it does not.”

It was at that she was given a few bottles of various colored potion and instructed to trial a collection of color at a time. He needed to know the efficacy of each brew to determine what was best for her.

Words were jilted. He could not wait to be rid of her. She was ushered out the door not a moment later, only a brisk goodbye in their parting.

The vials were awkward. They bounced in her arms, clinking loudly with warning of their fragility. Her arms were too full to shift even a single bottle.

Hogwarts corridors were barren. Classrooms locked in their disuse.

Any attempt at setting the potions down would be answered with an applause of shattering glass. No, she had to suffer through climbing stair after stair with the faint hope her potions would be intact for use. Her arms trembled. The glasses clinked together like a shiver of fear through their bodies.

Near the third floor, the weight doubled in an instant. Her grasp on the vials faltered. One dipped away from her hold and tucked against her stomach near another one. Her fingers spread in a lame attempt to grasp a bottle farther than a centimeter away.

“Looks like you’ve got a full load.”

The voice turned her blood cold. She felt the tension build inside. His close proximity, the smell of his spearmint breath near her cheek, it all brought back emotions she buried months ago. Anger and despair.

Mostly anger.

“Need a hand?” He asked.

“No.”

“Don’t be like that. Let me help you,” Ron said. His hands slid down her arms.

Hermione took two steps back. “I don’t need your help.”

“What, if it isn’t Slytherin or blonde, you don’t want it touching you?” The quick emergence of his snarl did little to scare her. He was all bark. His bite was less than that of a fly.

It was wrong to let it feed into the fury that filled her.

“Yes. Precisely.”

The dip of his red eyebrows only encouraged her forward, knowing he was angry now. It was about time. She had only been furious for months now. He should join in the fun.

His hands shoved into his pockets. “So what, you’re shagging Malfoy now?”

Her arms had not forgotten the weight of the potions. They begged for rest. She started toward her new suite even though she had gotten herself a red-headed leech to stick to her side through the journey.

“That’s none of your business,” she snapped.

“The slick git gets his kicks on expecting witches, does he?” He scoffed. “Knew something wasn’t right about him.”

The subtle slide of jealousy in his voice let slip his inner upset.

He hadn’t found her because of his feelings for her; he only wanted to best Draco.

“Why wouldn’t he get his kicks with the witch who’s carrying his child?”

“Come again?” He exclaimed.

She sniffed in distaste. “You heard me.”

A strong hand gripped her bicep. The tremble of glass upon glass split through her ears as she was wretched away from the middle of the corridor into a small path toward a forgotten stair. It was empty. Out of sight. Her heart sped with fury. Eyes widened in fear. The look on his face was that of utter hatred.

She glanced at the entrance to her suite. It was so close. He couldn’t know that she lived there. Who knew what he’d do in the dead of night?

The grip tightened. Her muscles squeezed between his fingers, the flesh bulged, and tears sprang to her eyes as Ron held her in a locked grip.

“No matter what he’s got you thinking now, he won’t want to keep you. He’ll use you. Throw you out like the bit of rubbish you are,” Ron said. “The only one willing to deal with your mess is me. Not him. He’s just using you for a pound of flesh.”

Her jaw dislodged from the pain. She winced. A few tears trickled from the corners of her eyes.

“I. Am. Carrying. His. Child.”

It only egged him farther. “You’re a slag and a liar. I know you’ve only laid with me. The way you whimpered and cried. So pathetic. No wizard would come back to that.”

The pain in their shag was not one she liked to remember. The way he shuddered atop her, blood dripped from between her legs, the only lubrication to his cock inside her. She’d cried out the entire time. Every time it was met with “Shh, shh. Almost done. Almost done. Don’t cry like that. It’s going to take longer if you keep looking at me like that. Enjoy it. Feels good, doesn’t it?”

She blinked the memory away through her tears. Her eyelashes were wet enough to see them. Their black lined Ron’s face as she stared with the pure disgust and horror she felt.

How had she ever been so blind as to love a wizard like that?

“I faked it.” It was said through gritted teeth. “I whimpered to keep from screaming out for him.”

“You liar!”

“You cheated first. Remember? With Lavender. So I found the one wizard you’d hate most of all and shagged him first.”

Godric. The blood was absent from her arm. She lost all feeling. The potions might rain to the ground in shards of glass any minute.

Ron’s eyes narrowed to slits of loathing. “You’re lying.”

“I am not. It’s Draco child with whom I carry. Not yours. It is his seed that buried itself inside me, under the slough of filth you pumped into me like a corpse, without concern or care. I carry the next heir of Malfoy house. And you? You’ll die alone, in a rotten shack.”

The grip got harder. It was almost to the bone.

All the flesh of her arm was bulged between his fingers. “Then why keep the bastard? Why try and convince me it was mine instead of your beloved Malfoy?”

She couldn’t stand the pain. It burned. So deep. Deep inside her belly, the pain swirled to rage. All it wanted was him away. Gone. Before she dug out her full womb and bludgeoned him with it.

Her lips twisted to a cruel smile. “I thought it might be nice to have you raise a child that wasn’t made of your same filthy stock. Father a baby that would achieve great things despite all your attempts to ruin it with your love.”

His other hand raised above his head. A clear look of murder in his eye, proof that what she’d said had done what she wanted.

It was a perverse revenge, but it tasted good.

“You little bit-.”

“Hermione?” A voice sounded from behind her back. “Hey. Let go of her!”

An ebony bob bounced into view. She was at Hermione’s side, face slumped in concern and displeasure. The look of disgust poured from her dark eyes.

Her hand shoved Ron back against the wall. “Get your hands off her. Who do you think you are?”

Two more witches were there. Their presence on either side of Hermione’s back. One had woven blonde hair twisted in two knots off the sides of her head; the other was a bigger girl with a hand on her hip, caramel-hued hair in gentle waves down her chest. Each wore a familiar badge of silver and green. A serpent bared face at their chest.

Their wands were not drawn. They must have known Ron Weasley was easy enough to conquer without the threat of magic.

“Shove off. This is between her and me,” Ron snapped.

“Is that true?” She asked Hermione. Their dark hued eyes met in a moment of familiarity neither had expressed before.

Hermione shook her head. “N-no. I was trying to leave.”

Pansy curled her upper lip. “Looks like your business is done. Leave.”

The blue glimmer of his Weasley eyes flashed from one pair of eyes to the others, realizing that they outnumbered him four to one, one of them being the brightest witch of the age with an agitated temper bound to strike hardest. She knew his weak points. Though that wasn’t where his vision held. It was with Pansy. She stepped forward in a challenge to his position amongst them.

Ron was flared red, still angry. He had words, nasty ones, primed at the edge of his tongue just ready to shoot at her in revenge. The strong clench in his hand refused to alleviate.

It was by no small stroke of luck that he relented to leave instead.

“Wouldn’t want to be seen near a flock of slags like you lot anyway,” he mumbled as he left.

Each time he walked away, she felt less and less hurt by what he did. There was to be a time where no matter what came from his mouth, she would forget it in a minute.

She was excited for that day.

The three Slytherin girls stepped back from their tight-knit huddle around her. Fresh air flooded around them. It cleaned the rotten stench of Ron’s assault.

Pansy touched Hermione’s shoulder. “Did he hurt you?”

“Only a bit,” she replied. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Her arms shifted to alleviate the ache in her bicep. The clatter of the potions, she almost forgot were in her arms, scared the other witches.

“Oh!” Pansy said.

“Here, let me help you with those,” the blonde said. Her two open arms stretched out in offering.

She blushed. “Oh, um, thanks…”

“I’m Daphne,” she said. “This is Millicent.”

Hermione nodded. Their names sounded vaguely familiar. They were never formally introduced. A crime in a school as small as they were in. It should have some house mingling that allowed for friendships across house lines. It was hard enough to relate to another person with the hopes of friendship without the monumental divide of ones assumed ‘house’.

Other houses were intimidating. They were meant to be. It was a method to divide them with like-minded people to supply certain areas of the muggle England population. Socialites were in Slytherin: money stays money. Gryffindor were the warriors of the Ministry. Ravenclaw was the scholars, academics, researchers, anything that required intelligence. Then came the Hufflepuffs who were the kindly everyday people that made the world a better, wholesome place to live. They were able to assume whatever role they wanted. Happy-go-lucky, comfortable, kind, catch-all house that caught the ones that never fit into one mold or another.

“Here. Let’s help get these to your room before they all break,” Pansy said.

She transitioned the bottles evenly amongst the girls until they all carried two. It made the trek much easier to the new suite. Hermione mumbled the password and let them inside her private place. They placed the potion on her bedside table and a few in the loo for an easy reach when she needed it. One was placed in a gentle home in her bag as an on-the-go supply.

“I think this used to be a professors chambers,” Daphne observed. Her neck craned back at the high ceilings.

Pansy appraised the surroundings with a drastic frown. “The aura is very dark. This room is not a happy one.”

“Should ask the house elves to redecorate,” Millicent pointed out.

“Draco said he wanted to do that,” Hermione answered quietly. “His taste is better than mine.”

The leader of their group nodded in agreement. “He has a knack for it. Genetic, you know. His mother is an artist, you know. Talented eye for color.”

Draco’s mother, Narcissa, was a Black. She was related to Sirius Black, the godfather of Harry Potter. The witch was not present at Grimmauld Place in person, but her likeness was adorned on the blossoming tree of the bloodline tapestry. Draco’s face was there, too. Both adorned with locks of brilliant pale blonde. Their eyes matched in silver blue.

It frightened Hermione to know that she would be face-to-face with the witch soon enough. That witch would be the grandmother of her unborn child as the whole world would know it. Draco’s mother would take residence within her life. An impressive, beautiful woman.

She tucked her palms safely out of sight. “Really? He’s not said.”

“Course not.” Pansy waved her hand. “The wizard only talks about Quidditch and you. I can hardly get a word in edge-wise about the dated procedures Madame Pomphrey uses in hospital. Did you know some of those potions use actual pieces of creatures? It’s barbaric.”

Truthfully, Hermione skimmed over every thing else except on snippet.

“Draco talks about me?” Her cheeks flushed. To highlight her excitement for the world to see.

Their friendship was close, becoming closer as the days passed. Feelings started to develop. Not good ones. Lovely ones. The ones she had sworn off when she discovered herself with child. Those feelings!

Whatever happened to chaise as a nun?

The clock clicked above their heads. They all turned as a bird was coughed up from the lungs of the body in a flurry of feathers and rapid chirps. It flew around the room for a minute. Then, just as fast as it emerged, the bird was gone.

“Look at that,” Daphne said. “Time for supper.”

The witches moved toward the door. They stopped when they noticed she had yet to move from her spot.

“Aren’t you coming?” Millicent asked.

Her stomach flipped. They invited her! Sure, she was invited by Draco’s extended invitation, but they really asked her to accompany them to the Great Hall for a spot of retching at pungent smells and chugging water in endless succession to keep the hunger from killing her. What a thrill!

It was a nice quiet stroll. The noise of the castle raised the closer they stepped toward the great room.

Draco was near the entrance. Crabbe and Goyle, too. Their eyes scanned the crowd of passerby as Draco leaned against one of the heavy wooden doors, foot against the boards. They were all dressed down to their uniforms. None of them wore a jumper. Just their white shirts with starched collars and loose ties.

When eyes caught from down the corridor, the foot dropped to the floor.

His arm nudged Goyle. “Found her.”

The Slytherins folded rank together. Their silent respect for one another a breath of fresh air. Crabbe said

‘hello’ and told her that there wouldn’t be any onions at the table that evening. She replied she was grateful for that. He said he was too. Hearing her gag was not appetizing.

It was a normal routine of where they all sat. Draco in his seat next to her, Crabbe across and Goyle across from Draco. Pansy took a seat at her other side. They shared a soft smile. The witches talked with ease with one another as they chewed on carrot sticks, olives, roasted cauliflower.

“How was practice?” She asked her group.

The boys had a habit of being quiet during meals. It grew her anxiety to reckless heights. Something had to fill the void.

“Wicked.” Goyle chuckled. “Draco caught the Snitch in record time. Fastest ever in the house.”

Hermione’s brows jumped. “Really?” She looked to the wizard at her side. “Congratulations.”

He shrugged. “Ah. I always knew I was the best. Now they have proof.”

“Of course.” She snorted an unladylike snort, just to ensure that she was always to be mortified any available chance.

Draco snickered beneath his breath. It earned him a fatal stuck-out tongue.

“Did you see Professor Snape?” He asked through a died-out chuckle.

Oh…Ron had made her forget the encounter with him entirely. It had to be him. Nothing else would have her minimize that horrid of an interaction with her favorite professor except the absolute disgust of the Weasley, who seemed more like his father every day.

The mention of Snape bittered the food in her mouth. Her fingers dropped a stick of celery. Her plate pushed away.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “What is it?”

She stole a breath. “Nothing. I just…it was an awful time after you left.”

“Aren’t they always?”

The playful tone tried to raise her spirits. It did, a bit.

“He gave me tons of bottles to try. There are over half a dozen potions. All I had to carry back by myself.” She sighed out through her nose.

It did not matter. Things were to the point where they cannot change. She was past the point of abortion as an option. It seemed cruel now. Her mind addressed the little thing within her belly sometimes. The entire school knew it was there, too. A termination no longer felt right in her.

She had to face the truth. She chose to lay with a wizard. This was the consequence of it.

Things like professors’ opinions of her did not matter. She had to think of nappies and stretch marks and cracked areolas, teething, and money.

Merlin, the worries of money alone would kill her.

There was the question as to her career, and to her residence. All things she was not ready to riddle out. Yet, she had to. Her future was laced together with a child that would depend on her for every little whim, every ounce of food and love and support. None of which she had experience providing.

Constructive criticism? Yes. Realistic mindsets? Also, yes. Unconditional love and full fledged self-sacrifice? NO. Big no.

Not that Draco was concerned. He was laidback about the whole situation. Amused, even.

“They better work better than those other ones,” he said. “What was it they were giving you before, goblin piss? If anything, they made you sick more. I should have made one myself.”

Perhaps now wasn’t the time to worry. Things were early. Her friendship with Draco was ripening.

There was loads of time for the panic.

Draco had a gift to ease her woes. She felt comfort seep through her veins despite all the questions of what laid in wait down the road. The relaxation of his calm, the serene of the Slytherins, the lightening of her humiliation, it all was better than before.

She stuck her tongue in her cheek. “The last thing you made is the cause of the problem. So perhaps leave it to experts?”

It was the first time she joked about her pregnancy.

The truth was that she never mentioned it around others. They assumed. Or, they knew from the guess work of the school’s announcement. She was in the family way with another student’s child. Not a word escaped her lips to confirm it.

A tiny voice in her head forced her lips closed when they wanted to. It was a brag to say Draco Malfoy impregnated her. Still, that tiny voice thought better of it. Draco was better off without a baby on his arm or a witch like her to tend to. Any day the news would hit him at the back of the head: he was too young to be a father. What then? The brand of a lying whore tattooed to her for all eternity.

No. One day Draco would abandon her. The feelings for him as inconsequential as she was.

As for now, he was there for her. Happy. Smiling, really. He liked to smile around her. More so when they were alone, but it was clear that he was happy.

“Here, here. I concede,” he said, a bit of puff in his chest.

The two wizards across from them were not shocked by it. She guessed they’d been told, by Draco, that Hermione and he were expecting… Not that they were stupid. Their ears listened. She saw the perky nature when something was said. Their eyes focused down at their plates, but the twitch to their ears took on full life.

Crabbe gave a shrug to his shoulders. “Snape is better anyhow.”

“Bet he was reamed good by McGonagall today. By the look she had for him on the Pitch today…” Goyle chuckled. His shoulder shoved into his friends’ side playfully. The amusement shined through on their faces. “He’s going to kill you at next practice.”

Hermione dipped a corner of her mouth low. “How do you mean?”

She did not want to be the reason he was punished.

“Don’t worry about it. They’re joking,” Draco said casually.

She doubted the assessment as she had just had a cold interaction with the professor earlier that day. The topic was dropped. She had happy to see it go. Professor Snape did not conjure prideful memories at the moment.

The group moved on to more important topics of discussion now that the news was exchanged between friends and Hermione. Crabbe asked if Professor McGonagall had said what would happen.

“I told you this morning that we didn’t know,” Draco said with a hint of annoyance.

Goyle shrugged. “Maybe they told her something they didn’t tell you.”

Hermione shook her head. “They haven’t said anything. Not a word. I think they have to bring it up to the Board of Governors since I’m muggleborn. I can’t be absent from school or they’ll…you know. So I guess they have to make decisions as to what will happen.”

“Stroke of luck there,” Pansy suddenly leaned in from her own atmosphere with Daphne and Millicent to add in her thoughts. Proof that the Slytherins listened rather closely, and made little comment, while Gryffindors were the opposite. “Draco’s father is on the Board.”

He sat higher in his seat. A glimmer of pride throughout his stoic face.

“That’s right,” he confirmed. “My father won’t hear of anything but the best.”

Her hands below the table, she tapped them against her knee to keep from giddy dancing. All her worries focused on her memories being wiped clean. Muggleborns and their muggle parents were told over and over that if any of them went against their rules, all their memories would be gone. It was a frightful experience. All that Hermione had found would disappear. Draco, Hogwarts, knowledge, poof!

She refused to let her breath give her away. Calculated breaths took turns. In through the nose. Out through her mouth. “That wouldn’t be a conflict of interest, would it?”

“Don’t worry, Hermione. You can trust a Malfoy to pull through for their own.” Pansy patted her arm.

Hermione winced. “Oh,” she muttered lowly.

“Oh, bullocks. I’m sorry. Right in the same spot. Does it still hurt?”

“Does what still hurt?” Goyle asked.

The father of her child – which she had to start considering Draco no matter how unbelievable it still was – was curious, too. He leaned closer, trying to x-ray his vision through the fabric of the blouse to see what Pansy meant, an invisible injury he wasn’t told of.

“What’s she talking about?” He asked.

She waved dismissively. “Oh, nothing. Ron just reminded me of why he is a tosser.”

“Ron.” Draco’s voice echoed below his breath.

“It was easy enough to scare him off. It only took Milly, Daph and I to convince him. We didn’t even have our wands out.”

His ice grey eyes flew across the room. The table of red was littered with the ranks of her former house. A section was noticeably absent. Their meals already finished, Harry, Seamus, Dean, and Ron were elsewhere in the castle.

Wizards were possessed by strange emotions. Often it was against other wizards.

Draco rose to his feet, as did Crabbe and Goyle.

“Bastard,” Crabbe muttered.

“A woman in her condition,” Goyle finished, as if he didn’t believe it. “To put hands on her.”

Her jaw dropped. “What are you doing? Draco. Draco! Where are you going?”

He stooped low to give her cheek a kiss. “I’ll find you, alright?”

The entire Great Hall seemed to notice the commotion. All their eyes watched the intimate moment between them with a tender kiss and her pleading he stay.

He did not. He left. For an entire hour he was gone, missing, presumably in a duel with Ron over some stupid nonsense.

Hermione was a nervous wreck in the library. She was in her secret alcove between the aisles. Her feet paced each length of the room as she waited.

Time ticked by slowly. She wanted to hex the clock for being so slow.

Finally, a noise splintered the dead still of that side of the library. It moved through forgotten aisles. The swishing sound of luxurious trousers as they rubbed against a satchel off one shoulder.

She threw her arms around his neck when he came through. A rush of breath now in her lungs.

In his hands were a bag of ginger crisps.

“Thought I’d have to come and plead to be taken back,” he said. “Even had a bribe and everything.”

“I’ll take the bribe because I am starving. The baby is refusing anything with the slightest bit of taste to remain inside my belly.” Her hand snatched the crisps from his grasp. She plopped into one of the chairs to devour the entire bag.

Draco took the matching chair across from her. His shoes touched the tip of hers on the floor. He stared at them for a while.

She allowed the silence to fill. It gave her time to think.

What should she say? It was his right to do as he pleased. He was his own man. If he wanted to fight Ron, he could. She hated that it was done in her name. Sure, Ron hurt her. Deeply. That should not impact his behavior.

They agreed to raise the baby together. He took over Ron’s role and supported her throughout the struggles of growing a new human. That was the agreement.

He did not have to protect her. There was nothing that she demanded he assume the role of boyfriend. It was discussed for his parents to appear to be dating, but that was not necessary in school walls. Friends was more than adequate.

“I think we should talk.” His words were soft. Quiet.

Again, his leg bounced. His hand was tucked out of sight, but she noticed movement. The nervous energy was back.

Apprehension leeched through her confidence. “Sure. Yeah.”

Then it was so sudden. A slap in the face, punch to the gut, a blinding shock.

“Do you love him?” He asked her.

She choked on her own breath. “What? Do I love who? Ron? No. Godric, no.”

“Are you certain there are no feelings between you?”

“Sure, there are feelings. Regret, hatred, loathing.” Just the mention of his name awakened the fatal want for him to suffer. “I have all those for him. Not one is positive.”

He ran a swift hand through his hair as he leaned back in his seat. A sharp exhale escaped his nose.

“Then why didn’t you tell me about him? I mean, I feel like that is something I should know.”

His eyes remained at the floor where their shoes were. She leaned forward, probing, wishing, wanting his eyes to find hers. The force of control over his tone left her with little clue to what he felt.

She swallowed. Her stomach knotted over and over. It twisted and churned. Tension shattered the comfort that resided between them to a vacuum. Nothing brought relief. Just pressure, harder and harder.

“I-i-I didn’t think it would matter. He was being awful like always. It didn’t have anything to do with the baby,” she explained.

“It had to do with you,” he snapped back. “It had to do with you.”

Her head nodded. It was all she knew to do.

“You’re right. It did.”

“I thought we were -.” He then stopped. The shake of his head was low.

She reached out through the space between them, through the shards of distance and the dead air, to gently touch his knee. “Talk to me, Draco.”

A heat spread across her face. His eyes raised from their lowly daze to greet her face with tension.

“It was my understanding that you liked me.”

“I do like you! Very much.”

“Then let me be apart of your life,” he said. “Tell me things. Like when your ex-boyfriend tries to hurt you. That I’d like to know. What if he hurt the baby? What if he hurt you? You’re both my responsibility now. Both of you.”

There was a drastic pause. It was filled with nothing the sounds of their breaths, an ambiance within their hidden, secret place.

“I don’t just want to be daddy on the weekends. Not when we could be something better than that.”

She blinked back her emotions that threatened to casually spill from her eyes. “I wasn’t certain you’d want to stay.”

“Well, now you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments and reviews, kudos and likes. It was largely helpful. I appreciate it! I wasn’t sure about this fic when I started. It was just a way to conjure up some inspiration from my other fics because I have been plum out of it for my WIPs…It seems that either you loved it or hated it. So I am not certain how that reads out. However, I do have parts already written that might add to the story and help those who hated it dislike it less. Either way, I’m grateful for the time spent on reading this. You’re awesome. Thanks so much.


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to continue with the story since there has been such a downpour of support for it! Let me know your thoughts on this recent part.

## Part III

The room was sweltering. Hermione constantly tugged at the neckline of her thick jumper. It was a cold trek out of the castle to Hogsmeade, now within a room in a little house out of town, she was being drowned in sweat.

“Godric. I can’t stand it.”

No. She couldn’t do it. The jumper had to come off even if it ruffled up her smoothed curls.

“Relax. This is supposed to comfort you,” Draco said. His hand rubbed up the length of her back that he knew was sore. Pregnancy was a pain in the back. Who knew? “It is a monumental thing, you know. The Board has allowed your parents to come close to the school to see you. You should be thrilled.”

“I am.” She sighed. “And grateful to your father. This is more than they thought possible. Me, as well. Muggles aren’t allowed anywhere near this village or Hogwarts.”

So little was known about what would happen with Hermione. A different law governed over her and her parents than the rest of the world. They were bound tight, controlled to a point of suffocation, all to prevent the exposure of magic.

It filled with her with rage to feel so powerless. The ethical wrongness of the laws that stole the rights from muggle parents was atrocious and outdated. It made her want to explode at every barrier in between her and the faces she needed to see.

Professor McGonagall was there, as Hermione’s head of house and representative of the school, to discuss the situation with the Grangers. Small glasses were at the tip of her nose. She was lost in grading a parchment roll longer than her arm.

Draco and Hermione were near the door. He hugged her close to his chest.

“Anything to make this easier on you.”

She smiled. What would she do without him?

Lost in a frenzy, for one. Still with that loathsome cockroach Ron, for another.

It was said that Ron and Draco dueled. There was no detention to prove it. Crabbe had whispered that it was merely an exchange of threats of which Draco assumed the higher ground with a more significant one. The wizard then made Crabbe and Goyle promise to not reveal it to Hermione. He did not want her to worry about her part in it.

Goyle held true to his promise; Draco was his best friend. Crabbe, on the other hand, was slowly showing he was a big softie. He once awoke her in class before Professor Trelawny saw and assigned her a detention of reading tea leaves or sorting crystal balls.

She kept the information to herself. There was no use in getting Crabbe in trouble with Draco over their schoolyard nonsense.

“An hour just doesn’t seem fair,” she whispered. “They are my parents.”

His cheek rubbed against her fluffy curls. “You were lucky to get this much, Hermione.”

“I know. I know.”

“They’ll be the first muggles to ever enter the town of Hogsmeade,” he added further. “It took hours of negotiation to get this much.”

It was success in the scheme of things. Even if it was small.

The Ministry was largely against muggles. They liked to keep them as misinformed as possible. It aided the divide between magical children and their non-magical parents which Hermione believed as a carefully calculated choice on the Ministry’s part. There was more power in separation than unity.

So little information was supplied to her parents about their child that it was almost criminal.

“You know my parents had to write letters to every witch and wizard they knew just to get one shred of news,” she snarled lightly.

“Why do you think my father fought so hard for this meeting? I told him just how important it was.”

“And?” She asked.

“And what?”

She raised her brow. “Come on now. We both know you did something else to ensure it was done. What was it? Threaten to give the baby my last name?”

He scoffed. “No. Nothing like that.”

She waited. Her eyes made it clear that she knew there was more to the statement.

“I merely implied that there would not be any meeting with them if you did not see your parents first.”

“Brilliant.”

That was bound to make things easy with his parents. What joy!

There were great pressures. Huge ones. Draco’s parents, Lucius and Narcissa, the two most recognizable people in London, perhaps the whole country. They were well known socialites. Narcissa, a beautiful woman with a taste for fine art, fine dining, and inter-country relations. She has a list of close friends that are high ranked in other magical governments around the world.

Well-connected, beautiful, and talented. A tripe threat of a woman to rival as the witch attached to her son. It did not bode well for Hermione.

Then entered Lucius Malfoy: the business mogul. He was gifted a fabulous fortune from his parents from centuries of Malfoy earnings. It was to the point where it supported a Malfoy well without additional supplication from other sources. It was not enough for Draco’s father. He set his sights higher. Much higher.

It did not take long for him to earn his seat on every board in England. He was a part of every aspect of wizard life.

Rumors, too, were a plentiful source of information. It was said, through the grapevines of gossip and behind-the-hand comments, that he was known within the muggle world. His presence there was hushed tight. Only a select few knew his name. What he did within the muggle world was not said. It was only the implication that his reach went very far indeed.

He knew how to sniff out a liar through a kilometer. Lucius would find them out the moment he laid eyes on them.

All in all, they were the worst people to have to impress.

Hermione fidgeted with the ends of her soft curls. They’d taken ages to get to lay just right now frizzed from the hasty removal on her outer layers.

Moisture gathered in her arm pits. They reeked of her anxiety.

“Where the bloody hell are they?” She groaned. Her parents were never late.

Professor McGonagall perked from her reading. She glanced at her wrist. “They’ll be here soon, Miss Granger. Never fear. They will arrive.”

Never fear. Never fear? Oh, there was fear!

What if they were upset with her? What if they hated her? What if all their hopes and dreams for their only child have burst up in flames because of one pathetic romp in a cupboard with a red-headed slob?

It did not matter. She had to see it through. Responsibility. Her actions led her to the moment. There was no other option.

“Now, come sit. They will be here any minute now,” the elderly witch tapped the chairs on one side of the long, pine table. “There are many topics to discuss before the meeting is concluded. We haven’t much time, so I’m afraid we’ll have to keep chit-chat to a minimum.”

Chit-chat? Is that what she thought they would be doing? Catching up over tea like it was a fun outing.

She gripped the edge of her seat as she sat near the witch. Draco took his seat and quietly brought it closer to hers. His deep breaths filled Hermione’s thoughts, syncing her own breath to his chest, and relaxing with each passing moment.

A static pop burst through the quiet a few minutes later. In it were three people. One was a lackey in a suit she recognized as a Ministry employee. The dull hues of the suit gave it away. As did the tasteless bowler hat atop their head.

“Two muggles. As ordered,” the wizard said in his nasally way. “Took us a bit to get through all the way points.”

“Yes, well, thank you Charles.”

“One hour. I’ll be back in one hour.”

Her parents shifted until they were gestured forward with a welcoming smile. They were wrinkled from the journey in. Apparating was a process. It was their first time, too. The upset stomach was common, as was retching. She recognized the red, watery gaze of her mother, Stacey. She was the one who fell ill during their journey in.

Still, Hermione stretched out her arms wide enough to take both her parents in a hug.

“Mum. Daddy. I’m so glad to see you.” A stray tear leaked from the corner of her eye.

Her mother threw her arms tight around her daughter. “Oh, my little sweet dove. I’ve not stopped thinking about you. How are you? How’s the baby?”

“I’m fine. We’re both fine.” Hermione sniffled. “And I’m not sad. This is just the hormones. They like to make me cry.”

“Not our strong witch,” William said with a smile.

There were not many witches who liked to admit it, but she knew that her dad was her favorite person in the entire world. Daddy’s girl from the moment she was born. He was her knight in shining armor and saved her when she took on too many projects at once, helped ease panic attacks with breathing exercises, was her only friend through those many lonely years and helped her cope with the discovery she was not a muggle as they were.

He was a strong man of thick brown hair. A curly beard hanged from his face. It always scratched her face when she hugged him. Now. She did not care if it broke the skin. Her arms cinched tight against her father’s chest.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” She sighed.

“Mister and Missus Granger, I hate to interrupt but we have much to discuss and so little time to do it in,” Professor McGonagall interrupted from her perch at the table.

It soured her mood. She glared very sharply at the velvet-robed professor with a pure loathing. All those years she idolized the professor were wasted on a woman who hadn’t cared if Hermione saw the only family she had.

Well, not only. She had Draco.

He’d remained standing near his seat at the table. The onlook of his eyes told the story of hesitation to interrupt their reunion. An open palm of his rested upon the clean wood. The crisp of his black suit with grey tie cut a slender profile her parents were bound to notice. It was night and day difference between Draco and Ron, and it was not Ron with whom supported her through the struggles she now faced.

She sniffed back the rest of her liquid joy and relief. “I’d like you to meet someone first.”

“Miss Granger, really, please. We do not have the tim-.”

“Mum. Daddy. This is Draco Malfoy.” She touched his hand from across the table. “Draco, these are my parents William and Stacey Granger.”

The wizard was raised with manners. He offered his hand and shook both her parent’s hands politely, with a steady voice and respectful eye gaze. It lacked the usual degree of confidence where he put his hand in his pocket and charmed his way to their hearts as he did every adult he came across.

There was a tension through the tissues of his throat as he gulped more than once.

“This is the one, eh, dove?” Her father shifted his stare back to her.

She nodded her head. “Yeah, Daddy. This is him.”

“Please. There is time for this later.” The professor placed both her fists down. “I don’t mean to rush, but we are not given much time. Miss Granger, please take your seat. Mister and Missus Granger, please. Right there is just fine.”

They all took their seats. Hermione and Draco on one, William and Stacey on another. It pained to be so apart after all the work it took to get close. Professor McGonagall stood at the head to direct the meeting. If it had been up to Hermione, they could have forgone the chaperone. She was already up a duff. What else could they do?

“It’s so nice to meet you, Draco,” Stacey said as she took her seat. Chestnut hair hanged at her shoulders with gentle waves from a curling wand. “We’ve heard many things about you. Haven’t we, William?”

“Just about as much as I like to hear about a boy,” he replied.

“It has helped calm us knowing she has someone here that supports her, seeing as her other friends don’t.” It was a jab at the absent Weasley. If only they knew how furious they should be at the unmentioned wizard.

Draco filled with pride. “I’ll always be there for her. And the baby. Anything they need. I’ll ensure they have it.”

His words did puncture, if slightly, the solid shield of her father. It was difficult to tell seeing as he was focused on being as intimidating as possible, but she knew the exhale through his nose brought forth his calm.

He was relieved.

The professor cleared her throat. “We are here to address the circumstance of your daughter’s pregnancy. There are a few points we should discuss. First, we have removed her from her shared housing assignment to a private bedchamber with accommodations for her changing body and the demands as the pregnancy progresses along. It is fitted with a nursery for once the child is born. It will have to live within school walls during the duration of the school year until Miss Granger is graduated. Our school matron has also updated her own knowledge that includes prenatal care both for mum and baby.”

Her father shifted in his seat. “Just how often is she to be seen by a medical professional?”

“We have arranged for regular checkups as outlined in the directory for expecting mums,” Professor McGonagall replied. She removed the eyeglasses from her nose. “There are a number of precedents set by this circumstance. We have never had this happen before.”

“Because I’m muggleborn,” Hermione clarified for her parents.

“She’s still our daughter. She has a right to her family and her education.”

“I’m afraid not according to law,” McGonagall answered. “If she chooses to have a child outside of school grounds during the school year, it will be assumed that she has decided against a magical life. All her memories will be removed. Lest assured, we are in the process of making labor and delivery options for Miss Granger here within the school so that does not happen. We hate to waste a mind as bright as hers. It would be such a tragedy. I believe it is fair that we all agree the option to finish schooling is the only one.”

“The tragedy is the lack of punishment,” Stacey Granger said.

Draco’s breath caught in his throat.

The professor’s lips parted in disbelief. “I beg your pardon?”

“That Ronald Weasley has made our daughter miserable with his bullying,” she fumed.

Beneath the table, her fingers touched his thigh. His hand instantly latched around hers. They shared a brief moment of eye contact before they looked back to the others before them.

William nodded in agreement with his wife. “Why is this school protecting a wizard that has ran our daughter from her friends and life? Just who does this school protect from scoundrels like that?”

“We have addressed the problem,” the professor supplied. She was no better than the Ministry official.

“No punishments for poor breeding,” Draco snickered. “I resolved the issue with the wizard myself. He won’t be running his mouth any more.”

“Mister Malfoy, that’s quite enough.”

“Oh Hermione. We are so grateful that you’ve severed ties with Ron before something like this happened. We never had the heart to say, but we did not like him one bit. The boy never respected you,” her mother said. “We are just so confused. You never mentioned – we thought you were still together when you wrote us. What, what happened? Why hadn’t you told us about Draco sooner?”

Here was the lie came in. A carefully crafted, not at all on-the-spot fabrication. It was embedded in truth to aid the believability of it.

“Please Miss Granger, we must move on.”

The professor’s words fell on deaf ears.

“I never told you, but Ron wasn’t always faithful to me.”

Her mother gasped. Her father, well he just shook his head, not utterly surprised by the news but still upset by it all the same.

“A roommate of mine and him used to hook up after hours. When I’d gone to sleep. I’d hear them in the common room sometimes. On patrol. I never told them I saw, but I did.”

Her hand tensed in Draco’s hold. His thumb gently ran up and down the back of her hand in comfort.

She was humiliated by the truth that Ron demanded she tell. The fact that she had caught him cheating multiple times with Lavender. That was true. Now, it was a weapon to weave a lie to stick a lifetime.

“So,” she continued, “I let my emotions get the better of me. I found Draco one night, devastated and hurt. He was so kind. It just made me think it was right to chase my feelings away with him. I know it was wrong to do it back to Ron. I really do.”

It was an unwelcome detour in the professor’s carefully planned discussion route for the meeting. She spent the rest of her available air to drone on about Ministry policy, what was still expected as proper behavior, the abstinence of sexual relations within school walls, added coursework to prepare to care for a new infant, the assumed role of being mother and the expectation it not interfere with her other studies and responsibilities as Prefect.

A summer leave was granted. She was permitted to spend the summer holiday with her family, but come September 1st, she would be back on the platform. Her parents would receive news by owl when the baby was born. One picture would be delivered at that time.

Students of the seventh year would have the choice for an extracurricular class that would allot Hermione time to attend class and study for final exams by providing childcare. It was to be the parent’s responsibility – hers and Draco’s – to ensure childcare was adequately covered if there were not enough students within the class to cover. It would only be a professor’s transgression to allow an infant within class. Many, like Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, were too dangerous to permit the entrance of a baby.

Most mention of Draco’s expectations were avoided. Professor McGonagall did a good duty to write the instructions as for a Single Mother’s Guide to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It was partly because the professor believed it impossible for Draco to remain dedicated to the child.

There was little time left at the end of the meeting for her parents to properly meet Draco. They did their best. They asked after his parents and his plans after graduation. It helped that he mentioned his father’s success and the desire to build on his father’s legacy.

Then came the dreaded question with just two minutes left.

“Do you intend to marry Hermione?” William Granger asked. He did not mince his words nor shy away from Draco’s face. The two men shared an intense moment together, a battle of wills to see with whom would break first. It was in her experience that her father would not break. However, it was a Slytherin’s nature to also not break. “Or do you intend to continue this as friends? A child needs a defined family. Whether it be nuclear or blended.”

“William, please. Don’t scare the man.”

“Daddy, really.” Hermione chastised him lightly. “Isn’t that for us to decide?”

“There is plenty of time to decide, isn’t there, William? You don’t want to rush them into a hasty decision.” Stacey gave a warm smile. “Whatever you decide, we’ll support it.”

Draco’s hand touched the opposite side of Hermione’s waist and pulled her against his side. “I would never do anything to dishonor your daughter.”

“Except impregnate my daughter, unwed, you mean.” William’s bushy eyebrow raised to reveal a very wide, very observant stare.

Hermione blushed furiously. “Draco’s father is the one who fought for the chance for you to see me. It was only by his hard work that made it possible. Please realize that it was done out of kindness to me to make this happen. They didn’t have to.”

Her mother was equally embarrassed. “We are eternally grateful for this. Please, send your parents our regards, Draco.” Her hand pressed against her husband’s chest, the silent signal to withhold his asinine behavior for emerging from between his lips.

“I will make it my life’s purpose to tend to your daughters every desire as long as she will have me.”

The Ministry official apparated within the room. His hand outstretched. Time was up.

Hermione embraced her parents with all the love she could manage. A soft apology wanted to escape her lips. They deserved a better child than one who constantly turned their life upside down.

Her pride kept the words to herself. “I love you dearly,” she told them.

“Until next time,” her mum replied.

“Take care, little dove. And you, son.” He outstretched his hand. “Take care of them both for me.”

Draco nodded and gratefully took his hand. “I will, sir.”

They were hesitant to take the official’s hand. He nodded his greeting to them both and said, “Deep breath,” before they popped away without another word. An empty room stared back. A thick coldness traveled down the length of Hermione’s arms. Gooseflesh turned her skin to a washboard.

She grabbed her jumper and winter coat. “Let’s go.”

“Are you alright?” Draco’s lips sloped downward. He observed her with the softness bit of concern.

Tears threatened to spill down her cheeks. It was not that hard to leave her parents before. Soon enough, they’d be together for winter holiday and it would feel like they had missed no time together at all.

She dragged the backs of her hands down her face. Her nose dribbled. It was wiped quickly.

“Best not be late to meet your parents,” she mumbled. “Not done yet, are we?”

It was a trek back to the castle. The fluffy white of winter filled the paths with a degree of effort. Cool air blew in violent gusts against their faces as they walked. Crunchy crisp snow underfoot. The smell of the distant trees and the Black Lake made a pretty fragrance on the wind.

A patch of the trail turned jagged. Draco helped Hermione hop through the series of dips and ice, never losing his grip on her hand, even after the trail turned easy again.

His silvery eyes flashed. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him looking more than once.

“If you’d wanted to hold my hand, you could have asked.” She grinned.

The calm of the outdoors forgot her worries, just for a short while. It was nice. The way the sun shined its rays against her face, blaring warmth and light. It was impossible to not feel better.

He chuckled. “I was going to say the same thing!”

The silence was back to a comfortable air as they navigated the path just as they navigated their thoughts.

She wondered if he thought of the future.

They never discussed the future. It was in the moment. What to do the next day, the next minute, the next exam. Never next year or the year after that, or after Hogwarts.

It was impossible to think of a life outside the walls that held their childhood and teenage years in a time capsule never to change through the centuries of time. What was life outside their school? Neither knew that much.

Her eyes glanced at his lengthy profile. It was all too settled for a wizard about to face his parents after revealing he was a sexual deviant. Did he worry what they might say? Tradition would dictate certain actions be taken. His family might expect a proposal of some kind. Had he thought of that? Did he have answers for their questions?

Hermione decided it was better to ask than leave him stunned in the light of their inquiry.

“Are there any things we should decide before we meet your parents?” She made sure her voice was nothing but light and airy, rather than the frantic nervous witch she was.

The future did not frighten her as much as the Malfoys.

He shook his head. “I doubt they’ll acknowledge my existence. They’ll want to know everything about you.”

That made a terrifying clench in her gut.

“Is that the tone of jealousy I hear?”

“Not at all. I might be proud if they proceed to replace me in their hearts. Perhaps then they’ll allow me to have my ear pierced like I want.”

“An earring?” She laughed. “Really? I can’t picture that!”

Draco shook out his hair. “What do you think? Could you live with a wizard’s pierced ear?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Draco. Of course. It is your ear. Do what you want with it,” she said.

“I’d like the mother of my child to like it.” His tone was less playful. “It might put me at a disadvantage in the future if you do not.”

A snort erupted from her nose. “How do you mean ‘disadvantage’?”

“You know. When we’re arguing because you let our daughter go out in a skirt that doesn’t touch her ankles and I say I don’t like it. You’ll have the reply, ‘Well I didn’t like that bloody earring you got’ and I’ll have nothing to say back. That sort of disadvantage.”

Their future. Arguing. Over their child.

She snickered to hide the pure giddiness she felt over a circumstance. A life together was not so horrible when it was like that. Even if it was silly. “I suppose you’ll just have to encourage me to get a piercing you don’t like to make us even.”

“Well that’s a blessed start.” The tip of his shoe kicked a drift of snow.

They fell into a silence once more. It overtook them in thick waves. The crisp ambiance of an alive forest, a backdrop to a lovely walk hand-in-hand as they marched forward to a meeting demanded of them. They were incapable of frolicking within the heaps of snow cut through the landscape, rolling in the fluffy white to make snow angels and shivering, teeth clattering from all their winter fun.

It lifted her mood to imagine what they might have done instead of walking back to the castle. A rosy hue tinted her eyes. Images of romance, with him, his hand through her curls, touching his jaw with her palm, kissing him gently at first, then firmer.

Draco freaking Malfoy. Her boyfriend! Or, baby daddy, as he phrased it.

“It’s strange, don’t you think? To know we’ll see each other when Hogwarts is done. I only thought I’d see you in _Witch Weekly_ or at a Quidditch match in London somewhere. Now we’ll be changing nappies in the dead of night and crying when the baby cries because we’re so tired?” A mother was not a path she thought of herself, now it included Draco Malfoy alongside her covered in mucous and vomit and spoiled milk.

White clouds poured from his nose. The heat of his lungs lost to the Scottish air. It dissipated away to the loss of heat through the stretching arms of impending winter.

“Where do you picture it?” He inquired softly. “Here?”

She shrugged. “I can’t say. I think not. It feels warm wherever we are.”

“Are we in love there?”

Her eyes snapped to his just as his dipped to the ground. He refused to bring himself to face her.

The beating of her heart stammered as air remained home within her lungs.

She squinted against the sun’s late afternoon rays. It burned her retinas against the white. Her arm raised above her head to watch him closely. He was a precise study. The slight motion of his lips changed meaning to their words, as did the shifting of his weight from one leg to the other.

“You mean, what my dad said, yeah? About marriage?”

“My parents are bound to ask the same.” His shoulders shrugged, as if indifferent, but rather, the edge of his tone indicated the uncertainty.

He was nervous. What for?

“Well, what is it that you’d like to tell them?” She asked. “I know your parents are traditional whereas mine are not. It is whatever you like. Whatever you want. I’m in your debt. Forever. You freed me of Ron and the curse of the Weasleys. There is nothing I can do to equate that.”

Draco stepped forward. He reached out for her other hand.

Their fingers laced together on both hands at their chests. She leaned into him.

“What I’d like is this: There is no plot anymore,” he said softly. “It is not some secret alliance we made. It is us. We are dating, expecting our first child, only seeing the future for the three of us. My future has you in it. It does not matter if there is a ring on your finger or not. My days shall begin and end with you.”

Then, he released one hand and pressed the palm against her ripening womb which grew bigger every day. It was large enough to fit in the expanse of his stretched hand. The taut flesh started to protrude from her uniforms. The waistbands were tight. Soon enough, they would be impossible to button closed.

Warmth in the form of five fingers spread throughout her flesh. It rippled deep inside her.

Something answered back.

She gasped. Both hands at his shoulders.

“What. What is it?” He breathed.

“It moved.”

Coherent life, not a cluster of cells, resided within her body. The reason for her suffering was contained to a body that moved and swayed and responded to the comfort of its mother in the safety of its nest.

Hermione believed it was a sign that the fetus knew its father was Draco.

“The baby moved?”

She nodded. Excitement in her touch, she took both of his hands and pressed them against her belly.

“I think it knew you,” she said with an unbreakable smile. “It reached out through me. You didn’t feel that?”

His eyes went wide. “No. How on – it is only seventeen weeks formed. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know. Is magical pregnancy different than muggle ones? I don’t know. May-Maybe there is something special about it,” Hermione mumbled. “We should research it. Tonight.”

Draco kissed the backs of both her hands. “I’ll be glad to, but right now, we need to get going. My parents will be waiting.”

The smile refused to retreat. Her eyes swam with emotion at his beautiful face.

She grabbed hold of him before she thought better of it and placed a plump pair of lips against his. His body jumped in surprise, but then folded around her to eagerly kiss her back. The thick wet of his tongue danced outside the walls of her lips, ready to lunge through. It was how she forgot herself. Everything.

Their tongues slid past one another as they explored the sweet depths of the other’s mouth. Warmth, sticky, wet. Tingles popped like bubbles against her skin. The casual grip of his hands against her waist fueled their ripening explosion beneath the wakening stretch of her creamy complexion.

Heat dripped through her insides. It squirmed between places left abandoned by her daily processes. A sharp rupture split straight through from her hot core to her mouth. A path of which she wished devoured by his tantalizing tongue.

His breath echoed against her ear. Her lips against the soft divots of his throat.

“We should stop,” finally croaked from his lips before he pressed their warmth against her own once more.

She was absorbed in the desire that filled her hands. They’d taken on a life of their own. Her fingers were caught at the second of his button near his bellybutton.

“Totally.” She gasped for breath. His hands traveled down her back toward the upper part of her bum and squeezed them until her toes nearly curled.

“Before someone sees,” he said.

The castle was not far off. A host of underage eyes were bound to be peering at them that very moment.

A rush of reality shot to the head. “Oh, Godric. We should not do that.”

“Well, I mean…” His voice trailed with a wicked curl to the corner of his mouth.

She blushed. “Maybe we can. For practice.”

He nodded, out of breath and blinking fast. “Right. Who knows who we might have to prove it to?”

Their heads were less than clear. Even as they ascended the stairs of Hogwarts to an empty room with one large table in the middle, chairs grouped around. A fireplace was ablaze with hearty glow. A puff of smoke and heat once penetrated, the room comfortable despite the lack of window light. Hermione was hit all at once with the blinding cold of reality from the happy-dancing heart inside her chest already attached to the wizard at her side.

There was a tense air they stepped into. The room was regal, stoic, and piercing through her.

A man of long flowing robes stood at the table. His blonde hair matched that of the woman beside him, seated with her hands in her lap, a graceful indifference in her features, beauty unbroken by time. Each of their brows raised when Hermione and Draco emerged together. The center of their focus: the joined hands.

Hermione dropped her hand away from his. A giant blush consumed her in fire.

“Glad you two could be bothered to join us.” Professor Snape arose from the darkness of a corner. His sudden emergence from the black startled her to a halt.

“Professor,” she breathed. “I didn’t see you there.”

“We’ve asked him here,” a soft voice as sweet as honey said. It came from Draco’s mother. Narcissa.

She lifted her palm, each finger moved slowly and beckoned Hermione closer. “Please. We are very grateful you will have us this afternoon. I know how precious these days off are.”

The genuine move of kindness was much appreciated. Hermione lowered herself to a chair, though she was certain to only move when Draco did the same. The intensity that poured from his parents was not a force she could withstand alone.

“Miss Granger.” Lucius Malfoy nodded in acknowledgement. His dull grey eyes flickered to his son’s face with an extended moment of contact neither dared break with a display of emotion. Still, something passed between them. An exchange, of some kind. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“All good things,” Narcissa added with a soft smile.

The regard of her in their eyes eased Hermione deeper into her seat. They were intimidating figures. The intensity lived within the air they breathed. Their demeanor did not reveal any ill will.

As of yet.

Narcissa exhaled. The smell of her sweet breath a freshness through the smokey air. Her pale eyes glimmered. “We are sorry to have to meet under these circumstances.” She flashed her son a look of blame. “A day in our home would have been lovely, had we been given the chance. It is a handsome estate with rose gardens and a lake for swimming. I cannot understand why our son might deny you such a visit.”

“You understand our urgency to visit the school directly,” Lucius stated in vast contrast to his wife’s statement.

Hermione gulped back apprehension. “Of course.”

“We wanted to be here to support you both through this,” his mother hummed.

“And discuss the next steps,” Lucius said. “Draco, you’ve claimed the child as your own and wish to proceed in such a manner, as I understand it?”

“I have, Father. The child is mine.”

“A baby is a lot of responsibility,” Narcissa said. It was clear that she alluded to his immaturity though she had not said it as clear as that. The fall in her tone said it for her.

Her husband was not so opposed. He looked down at his wife with nothing but confidence, the same that she recognized in Draco.

It was obvious Draco was his father’s son. She wondered if such qualities would pass onto their own child, seeing as genetics were not a factor. Doubts were sure to be cast if their son was not as confident, suave, intelligent as both its parents, and grandparents both him.

Oh Godric. What if it had the brain of a Weasley? She shuddered at to what havoc she might birth in the form of Ronald Weasley and Arthur Weasley’s grandchild.

“Draco is a responsible wizard,” Lucius stated. “He knows to accept the consequences of his actions. It is his duty, as heir of our house.”

Heir of their multi-million Galleon house.

“You mean,” Hermione’s small voice squeaked through the quiet. “You’re not angry?”

“What would my anger solve, other than to force a divide between my son and I?” It was a shocking opposition to what would have happened with the Weasleys: anger, grounding, making their lives miserable to teach them responsibility. Molly would have made Hermione take over household chores for the sake of showing her what it meant to be a mother. “Besides, the fault is all mine. I have emphasized the importance of continuation with my son so heavily. It is no wonder this has happened. He has done what was expected of him, rather soon but not against our wishes. Children are the miracle that continues on the magical generations.”

Draco cleared his throat. “Father. This has nothing to do with what you taught me. It was not intentional.”

“Perhaps not. But our family is known for our potent wiles in two things: business and pleasure. It is a curse as much as it is a blessing. Things like this are bound to happen to a young man as smart and handsome as you.”

Narcissa touched her husband’s shoulder. Her pale eyes glanced over at Hermione with a flickering persistence.

Finally, she took it upon herself to speak. “You, yourself, are quite smart, Miss Granger. The smartest of a century from what we hear. With a talent for Potions. Quite the catch for our son.”

The witch was too kind to mention how idiotic it was to fall pregnant at seventeen. A counter-fertility potion was an easy brew for someone as talented as her. It was pure idiocy to have not used it.

“I study very hard for my marks,” Hermione said.

The matronly witch conveyed doubt. “Professor Snape has told us it is more than a mere familiarity.”

It was the first time the professor was addressed. He’d kept quiet in his seat, comfortable to sit in the dark, out of eye, as he was as a man outside the classroom. The mention of his name rose his eyes up from the clasped hands at the table.

Narcissa and Lucius looked on for explanation; their brows raised with question.

Professor Snape inhaled deep and allowed the air to ascend his spine to straight. “Miss Granger has bested those in years before her since the start of her magical education. She can observe mere written instruction and perfect it without practice. Her studies in Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration have shown similar abilities. There is no doubt she will be a gifted witch when she leaves these walls.”

All these weeks felt like she’d lost his respect. Her hand never raised in class as it would bring to light her fall from his grace. She expected his opinion of her to have fallen below the dungeons of the school, not so high as he set for her in front of the Malfoys. It filled her heart with floods of watery emotion.

Ever since her pregnancy was revealed, it was a constant reminder of the disappointment expressed in the sad eyes of the professors as she passed, like she no longer mattered because of the life that she grew inside her stomach. Her mind was tossed aside. They only saw her future full of nappies, dead-end jobs to make ends meet, a pathetic flat in the city where they lived off of tea and naps.

It was fair to say she thought the same of herself. She knew that it waited out there.

The professor’s words instilled hope that she might not have fallen as far as she thought.

“What has the school done to accommodate my son and Miss Granger? I hope the hospital wing has arranged for the proper care to be given,” Lucius said. He placed his palm against the table and leaned forward.

An intimidating look passed through his face. It was no wonder how he was able to conquer as much as he did in the business world. He was terrifying.

“Madame Pomphrey has arranged for care,” Snape confirmed.

“I’d like our family healer so monitor her. He can Floo in from London every other month to check that she is being cared for,” Lucius said.

“Every _other_ month?”

The sound of Draco’s voice was a surprise.

“Do you have concerns as to the care offered by Madame Pomphrey?” Narcissa asked.

His hand reached over and spread against the inflated bulge of Hermione’s belly. “No. I’d only like their health to be a priority. Make it every month. I want to be there, too.”

Professor Snape did not move to make a complaint or agree. The stoic indifference on his face rivaled that of Draco. He only spoke when demanded an answer. They spoke of procedure to ensure the healer would be allowed onto school grounds. It was left to the professor to acquire the headmaster’s permission.

Finally, the conversation flowed away from the question of medical care. It moved onto basic needs, all that she was given already.

All the Hogwarts business out of the way, things turned more personal. Lucius took a seat. His wife placed her hand atop his on the arm rest, a regal personal message yet as properly managed as ever.

It was a question as to how she was not regarded as goddess divine. Every movement was that of a dance, graceful and alluring. She brought forth energy. Her face commanded the eyes of everyone in the room. Hermione was trapped beneath a cloud of dazzlement.

“Miss Granger, we would be honored if you would visit us on holiday,” the witch said. The slippery sweetness of her voice was too powerful to illicit denial. Hermione had to say yes. “We have a fabulous Christmas Eve party we’d love for you to attend. It is Draco’s favorite night of the year.”

“Mother.” He groaned, embarrassed. A hasty look to read Hermione’s face said as much. The light color brought forth to his cheeks only confirmed it.

“Oh, shush, darling. You know you do. Our elves have a fabulous display of lights that line the estate. A magical garden of twinkling lights. Then there are horse drawn carriages with hot cocoa and biscuits.” She smiled. “We beg of you to attend. It would not be complete with the mother of our grandchild not in attendance. You’re more than welcome to stay. We’ll have a suite made up for you, of course.”

She felt her eyes grow wide. “Wow. Um, thank you. I’m honored. I’ll have to ask my parents -.”

“They’re welcome, too,” Narcissa replied. There was a hint of determination in her gaze, a hint that she would not be denied what she wanted. “After all, we will have to be formerly introduced sometime. Soon the better, I say.”

“Mother.” Draco hissed softly.

Their eyes aligned.

“Don’t pressure her.”

A wrist adorned with a solid diamond silver bracelet touched her chest. “Pressure? Darling, these are things that we have to do. We’d like to know the family of our grandchild, the people with whom we shall share our son. We have not even gotten to know Miss Granger. She will be apart of our lives as much as you are apart of theirs, will she not?”

Know them? She would have to know them?

What like, weekends in Wiltshire then weekdays in the city with her parents? Would they share a room? Who would the baby sleep with? Could she trust Draco to take the baby alone to a place she was not present?

A tap turned on at her palms. Sweat, slick and profuse, leeched through her palms into the fabric of her trousers. She felt an outline of each finger atop her thighs.

“She doesn’t need this stress right now. It’s not good for the baby,” Draco said. “Don’t push her to do something uncomfortable.”

“It was a mere invitation.”

“It is mine and Hermione’s decision.”

“There is no reason to hide her now, Draco. She’s with child. Are you – you aren’t embarrassed of your family, are you, darling?”

His hand still pressed against Hermione’s stomach. He held it protectively in his hand as if he thought it was the only force to keep it inside her womb.

Lucius was silent through their heated intensity over the emotion his wife felt to being denied the right to knowing his son’s love life. He instead appraised Hermione. His eyes a beaming light to her face. Her eyes flashed between the two. Their debate bringing very high emotions from both. She looked to the patriarch for help. It was agony to listen to the distrust she brought to their relationship. Her heart burned for both.

It was only by the pleading in her expression than Lucius finally sighed. He turned to his wife, one hand on hers.

“My love,” he said. “Perhaps it was not your place to invite her to a family gathering. Draco might have wished for that opportunity himself.”

The color drained from her face when she realized what she’d done. The knowing look and raised brow of her husband only highlighted the issue for the rest to view quite obviously. “Oh, darling. I overstepped. I apologize.”

“We only just found out she wouldn’t be expelled from school, Mother. We haven’t thought of Christmas. Or names. Or even what we are going to do with a newborn. There are lots of things we have to sort out yet. And until then, I don’t want any pressures to make something of it.”

Both of his parents nodded. “Of course.”

She felt for so guilty. Draco had practically chastised his parents in front of her, over an invitation to a party! Did he not want her in attendance?

Hermione untucked her curls from her ears. “I only meant that I’d have to ask my parents if they had any plans. They like to walk through Kew Gardens. It is a bit of a family tradition. But I am sure they’d be honored by the invitation. They are very curious to meet you. As well as grateful that you fought for their right to see me. It’s not been easy on them. As muggles they have few rights that can be respected by the school. I believe it is very trying on them to be so separated. My mum can’t even be with me for the birth.”

The scariest moment of her life without her mother present made it all the more real.

She’d have to force an infant from her body. Not only that, but it was the closest she’d be to death in her life and the statistics of what could go wrong only filled her with more apprehension. It was possible the baby to tear its way through her hole into the other one! How women elected to more than one birth was beyond her imagination. She would not. Would not, repeat it.

“Her mother cannot be present?” There was a fiery glare to Narcissa’s eye as she spoke to the silent professor who looked like he’d rather jump into hellfire than deal with talk about labor and delivery. “The girl is entitled to her mum.”

“A muggle cannot step on school grounds, Cissa.”

Professor Snape shifted with an exhale. “Muggles are not permitted entrance to Hogwarts. It is law.”

“Screw the law! She cannot give birth alone in a school. It is untoward.”

“I’ll be there,” Draco said.

She forced a smile. “That is all well and good, Draco, and I am proud of your dedication to Miss Granger, but there are certain times when a girl needs her mother’s strength. It is one of those times.”

“The Board will not change that law. It is the one I cannot help,” Lucius answered lowly. “They were adamant. It took hours to convince them of an hour-long meeting in Hogsmeade.”

“Severus,” Narcissa pleaded. “There must be something we can do.”

“It is the headmaster’s opinion that the boundaries of the castle be respected,” the professor drawled.

Hermione’s head fell. She knew it was too much to ask for.

“However,” Professor Snape continued.

Blood flooded her veins. A hope ascended to the blissful heat of her breath.

“It would not be in his power to deny a leave of absence if she were to remain within a magical family.”

The Malfoy’s he meant. He meant give birth within the Malfoy’s home.

It was not the smoke of the fireplace that choked her; it was shock. The request that she have the most intimate experience a woman could have, a situation that warranted as few onlookers as possible, was to be done in a prestigious home with a feign family waiting outside the door. It was too much. Too much to ask of a family that was not biologically bound to the baby within her.

The imposition would be nothing to Draco. He was accustomed to lavish doting of his family.

Hermione was not. She was raised a modest life in a humble suburb of London.

That was not the place for a witch like her. A wealthy estate, birthing an heir, a handsome blonde as a boyfriend?

No. She couldn’t continue with the lie it was!

“It is an alternative the Board might entertain,” Lucius stated. “It will take no small degree of charm, but the reminder that it is a Malfoy heir shall encourage them to see things in my perspective. An heir has a right to be born in their family house.”

The gentle hold upon her belly was awakened with her touch, as she wrapped a grip upon Draco’s arm. He glanced down. A joyful play to his lips.

Oh, honestly! Are all wizards so roused with desire?

How could she make him understand she was uncomfortable with all the attention? If they went out of their way to cater to her, guilt would leech in through every shred of her courage and force the truth out of her lips. She’d ruin both their lives if she did.

The moment his silver eyes fell into her brown pools, an exchange of pure understanding passed through.

Draco placed his opposite palm along the edge of the tabletop. “If we were to choose the Manor, and be granted leave, Hermione’s mother has to be there.”

“I’d hear of nothing less,” Narcissa said.

“We’d like time to consider it,” he replied.

Lucius flicked a thick section of hair back over his shoulder. “Severus, how soon does a request need to be given to the headmaster?”

“I’d not wait past the start of next term if you have hopes for it to be approved.”

There was a shift in the room. Professor Snape dared to glare at the clock on the wall. Draco shifted in his seat in a sudden discomfort that their meeting might overrun.

Narcissa and Lucius noticed the change throughout the atmosphere. It brought forth accepting exhales, though it looked like there was much more they expected to exchange before the end.

“I do believe it is time to go, my love.” He rose from his seat. The black robes and suit underneath were that of his son’s taste, or rather, Draco emulated his father through his clothing. Solid black upon black. It was slimming on a typical person. The overlay of flowy black robes stole from a slim cut image.

The Malfoy patriarch offered his gloved hand to his wife. The shimmer of her teal and beige painted nails caught the sharp light of the fire as they grasped his hand. Her body rose. It was that of a slender woman, a bit taller than a dainty witch, but she was none the less a porcelain-looking witch.

All except her eyes. They held her strength.

“So soon,” her voice echoed with a hint of sadness.

She embraced her son with a taut squeeze. “I love your letters, my son. I look forward to them every week. And good luck on the Pitch.”

Next it was Hermione’s turn. As Lucius shook his son’s hand and placed an open palm against his shoulder, Narcissa opened her arms for another hug, this time with the witch.

They joined in a soft embrace. It joined together two witches almost strangers to one another.

“It was lovely to meet you, Miss Granger. It pains me that has ended so soon. There is so much more I’d like to ask you.” The witch smiled. “A letter, perhaps? Would you grant me a letter?”

A letter was not a bother.

Hermione nodded. “I’ll look for your Owl.”

“Brilliant.” One of the enchanting smiles spread across her face.

The two gave their final goodbyes before they stepped into the fireplace, green flame consumed, and gone in the bright flash.

Professor Snape cleared his throat. “I do believe you are expected somewhere, Mister Malfoy.”

“Yes, sir.”

The blonde stretched forward. His lips brushed against her cheek in a quick smudge before he left.

“Miss Granger, do you have a moment?” The professor questioned. His wand flicked the open door closed.

She swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“How have the Potions been working?” He asked. Genuinely curious.

Her spirits lifted. It was a welcome reprieve from the constant barrage of shame she felt whenever his eyes found their way to hers.

“Well,” she answered.

“Madame Pomphrey reported you’ve had no other symptoms. Is that correct?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

He looked down the tip of his nose with annoyance. “The moral are often self-sacrificing. I find that those in Gryffindor who are bound by ethics are more prone to such occurrences.”

She crossed her arms across her chest. Being put on display was the equivalent of being naked.

All she was able to do was focus on her shoes. “It is not self-sacrificing to endure.”

He sighed. “I thought as much.” The professor rubbed his temples, set his hand against the table, and took a moment to regain a sense of himself in the mess of teenage drama.

“I’m sorry,” blurted out of her mouth before she could think twice.

“You do not owe me an apology, Miss Granger, so do not give me one.”

“But I do. I- I’ve let you down.”

“Are there any symptoms I should cover under a new batch?”

She shook her head. “It’s helped the morning sickness. I’ve got more energy now, not so tired. My back still hurts a bit. That’ll only worsen as time goes on, won’t it?”

“I’ll add in mild pain relievers to reduce the muscle aches. Anything else?”

“Sir,” she gulped. “Please. I want to apologize my behavior. I assume it has casted an ugly light on the school and all my professors. I am a role model, a Gryffindor house Prefect. I cannot image the damage I’ve done to all the young witches. I deserve to be punished, but not without stating how sorry I am for the damage I’ve caused.”

“Miss Granger, do you believe yourself a saint?” Her professor swiftly asked.

The question invoked a multitude of incessant blinking.

“No, sir.” Her small voice croaked.

“Do you believe to be a role model you must be without fault?”

Again, she shook her head, but said nothing. The water in her eyes was a war in which she focused all her concentration, blinking away the tears that wanted to fall. For what reason? She hadn’t a clue.

The beating of her heart slowed. It felt heavy. Like a weight upon weight, stone upon stone, set against her ribcage.

Professor Snape sighed. His taut lips relaxed at his mouth with a set of downturned eyes. Their corners wrinkled. Through the dark glimmer of his coal black eyes, a ray of hope emerged.

She ran her fingers through her loose curls, gripped her face, and tried to hide the fact that she was near tears. It only took a moment of her devastation to illicit a response from the wizard. He bent his knees, not without a wince, and placed a palm upon her shoulder.

“It is by fault that a role model is defined, not perfection. It is the ability to fight through hardship and adversity that is admirable,” he told her in his kindest, yet steady voice. “Harden your skin, Miss Granger. Harden it so that it may be impenetrable to sever. Let no person influence the reach of your goals. There is much in this world yet to conquer.”

“Conquer?” She gave a dismissive snort as droplets dripped down the edge of her nose. “No one is going to take me seriously.”

“Make them.”

“But how?”

He shook his head. “Now you know as well as I that it does not do a service to give away all the answers.” The wiggle of his brow encouraged a smile, although her cheeks were still stained with tears.

It was not long after that the professor was required at the Pitch for a strategy council with the house team. Hermione was left the room until she felt well enough to leave. The blessed quiet gave her time to absorb all the information of the day from both her parents and Draco’s.

There was so much so consider.

Draco had been right; she hadn’t thought once of a name! What kind of mum doesn’t think of names the moment they find out they’re expecting?

She made a quick list that involved her favorite novels: Charlotte, as in Bronte, Isolde which added Tristan to the list, Gatsby, Arya, Elinor from Jane Austen’s greatest work, Anais, Clarissa, Emma, Atticus, Barrett, Colin from _The Secret Garden,_ Dorian Grey.

Dorian Grey. That was a cute combination. Dorian Grey Granger-Malfoy.

Eh, it was a mouthful then. Four names reeked of self-importance. Just whom was she birthing, a count of the 18th century?

It appalled Draco to even suggest it.

“Granger-Malfoy? Are you barmy?” The wizard asked.

They were in a crowded corridor the next day just trying to pass through. Cold weather forced the students inside the castle as heavy downpours of snow left them trapped without exit. The temperatures dropped over night. It was now the dead of winter. Blistering gusts whipped through cracks in the walls, only adding to the cold nature of Hogwarts. Fires were stocked with firewood, constantly ablaze, as were the sconces in the hall. Not that they did much.

Draco, Crabbe, Goyle and her fought through a dense crowd. Hermione was pulled against Draco, more than once, so that she might avoid being slammed into a stack of books in someone’s arms that refused to move. It helped with Crabbe and Goyle in front. They cut a wider path seeing as no one wanted to be stomped on by either of their feet.

The bulge of her expanding bump was obvious through her uniform. The little hump grew every day. It caught eyes. Many. But, there were less scowls. A few of witches with envious eyes hid their gaze, but looked over their shoulder.

Longing for a baby belly or for a handsome, blonde, Quidditch star? She guessed it was the a combination of the two.

The consequence of their opinions was lost on her. Her focus was on her studies, earning the respect of her professors back, eating, and learning how to be a baby mama, as Draco would sometimes teasingly call her.

Hermione frowned. “You don’t like it?”

“You can’t hyphenate my last name.”

“But,” she leaned close in a whisper, “it won’t really be a Malfoy.”

One glance showed that the two behind them hadn’t overheard. Partly, she wondered if they knew. They knew Draco like the back of their hand. Every waking moment those wizards spent together.

Did they know that Draco had not conceived this child with her? If they did, they refused to acknowledge it.

“Yes. It will be. It’s my baby. I want it to have my last name,” he snapped under his breath. “Don’t say that again.”

“But what about -.”

A sound splintered through the steady hum of the voices. “Lookie here. There’s the bastard now.”

Draco’s jaw set in an audible crack. “What’s that?”

There was a gaggle of Gryffindor boys huddled near a sconce off to the side. It was the largest one of the corridor. Their faces were red from the heat it gave off. It matched their red and golden ties just below their throat.

“Oh. Not you, Malfoy.” The guys all laughed in their brazen way. “The one that Granger stuffed up her skirt.”

Hermione only recognized one of them and it was not with the greatest sensation to remember him either. It was Cormen, or Carmac, or something like that. He was a year ahead. He’d liked to introduce himself to every single witch in Gryffindor since the start of term. The sandy blonde locks did little to tempt her. She knew the glint in his eye was more than just kindness. Tigers had a similar glint before they devoured their prey.

The way a few first year witches sprinted away from him only spoke to what he did to devour them.

Draco’s wand was immediately drawn. His arm extended out forward, the other pulled back behind him.

Goyle and Crabbe slid in close, each of their bodies a wall on either side of her. A clammy hand grabbed hold of her wrist. Her eyes met the dull honey hue filled with expression. Crabbe shuffled her behind his back as a makeshift shield. She was lucky he was short enough that her tiptoes allowed her a wobbly view of the scene.

“That is my child whom you speak of,” Draco hissed. “And my girlfriend. Speak of them ever again and I’ll curse the bullocks right out of your pants.”

It was the first time he was alive with fierceness. The protective edge in his tone only made her knees weaker than the way he loved to whisper in her ear. She steadied herself against Crabbe’s shoulder as she pushed herself higher in the air.

Draco’s tongue was his preferred weapon, not his wand.

“Whoa. Easy there, Malfoy. No need to get your knickers in a twist. Oh wait. That’s what you did to Granger, isn’t it?”

Poor idiot hadn’t a chance. A spell ripped through Draco’s wand in an instant. The disc circled around the group, all of whom hadn’t bothered to arm themselves against him now scrambled within the folds of their robes to locate their wands. The air around them turned harsh. Styled hairs whipped back and forth. Strength grew. The bubble that encapsulated the Gryffindors swirled them like a hurricane until a sudden burst exploded within the contained dome. The ground shook below their feet. Hermione felt it travel through the stone floor.

The five wizards dropped swiftly. Their bodies the only cushion to the fall. Not that they had bothered. All their hands were clasped around their ears with mouths dropped open.

The spell receded. A surge of groans echoed through the corridor, silent as the night, eyes locked onto the fight.

“Now when they speak, they won’t have to hear the drivel that spews out their mouths.” Draco stiffened. His fingers slid the length of his robes, spreading the wrinkles flat.

His hand extended through the space of his two best friends. A needy pull in his eyes. “Ready for your checkup?”

Madame Pomphrey written letters to each of them that morning. They were given a specific time to meet within her office. What lacked was an explanation. It was only assumed that Hermione was due for a check.

They arrived at the precise time she dictated.

Hermione was led to the back-corner bed surrounded by white room dividers. She was instructed to lay on top of the mattress. It earned a snicked from the bedside. His arms were crossed against his chest, feet elevated, and a clean-cut smirk.

“Next time round, I want to be the father.” She growled as she removed her jumper, as instructed. Only the thin of her white blouse covered her stomach.

“I don’t blame you. Easiest job I’ve had. Could do it in my sleep.”

“I’ll just bet you can,” she muttered.

It took the wind out of his sails. His feet dropped to the floor.

Madame Pomphrey emerged through the dividers. “Ah. I see you’re ready. We’ll do a simple diagnostic spell first. Deep breath, dear.”

The spell read back her weight, hormone production, blood pressure and overall health. Iron read low. Madame Pomphrey made a note of it with her quill.

“You’ll need an additional supplement of iron,” the witch relayed.

Hermione nodded. “I’ll tell Professor Snape. He’s been brewing my potions.”

“No worries, dearie. He will receive the report.”

Madame Pomphrey had a long parchment in hand. Her quill scratched against the surface as she copied the information from the spell.

Hermione couldn’t help but notice it might be quicker if she charmed the quill to magically write rather than taking the time to write it all out herself.

“Now that that’s done.” Madame Pomphrey placed the parchment aside. “Would you unbutton your blouse up to your ribcage? Hold it aside. Just like that.”

Draco cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. His hand itched at the knot in his tie.

“Um, wha-what is this for?” His voice waivered.

“Well, there is a little thing in there that has been undisturbed for far too long. We’re going to see if we can’t spot a look at it.”

Hermione’s breath caught. “You mean, we can see it?”

Her eyes caught with Draco’s. Both swam with excitement. She reached out for his hand with the hopes that he would join their bodies soon so that her physical trembles of fear would halt their ascension up her spine. When in fact, she was thrilled with fear.

An inner look at the alien changing her body. So soon. It was only formed four months prior, now it would be recognizable as a human baby?

The cold of the spell took her breath. She sputtered a shaky exhale.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked. He was at her side, hand laced inside hers.

“It can be a flash of cool,” Madame Pomphrey answered. “Not to worry. Perfectly normal.”

Cool? It was frigid. It seeped down through the warm fat of her belly in through her bones. The bottoms of her lungs tainted her air to wintery gusts as exhales. She thought she saw the steam rise from her lips.

A steady squeeze of Draco’s hand brought her mind back to the hospital bed.

“It can take a minute.”

Neither heard her. They lost themselves in the haze. Their breaths aligned, the very blood cut through the arteries of their hearts burned in the same sweetness. The solid wall his energy mixed with the flowing waters of her power. They collided in violence.

It cut through. The deeper they dove through the pupil, the harder they fell into the realm of entwined destiny.

Had there not been a witness, the bodies of two souls in need of each other would have latched on for dear life.

“There it is,” the witch spoke with a fluttering tone. Her palm set against her chest. “Oh, look at that little darling.”

Hermione and Draco broke away. Their eyes fluttered upward. A rectangle reflected what was within the expanded womb they watched grow little by little. Amongst the stretch of white tendons and red muscle was a pink creature, with an enlarged head, little body and scrawny long arms drifted in front of it.

“Aw.” Hermione sighed. “Drake, look. It’s our - our – our baby.”

“I see it,” he breathed.

Neither could look away from the beauty they’d created. Even when Madame Pomphrey was needed elsewhere. They begged for more time, just to watch the baby sleep, thumb in its mouth.

The witch parted the white cloth of the dividers, intent to step through, when a sudden question wretched her back inside.

“What is it?” Draco asked. “Boy? Girl?”

“You’re having a girl.” She gave them a hopeful smile. “Congratulations.”

Wow.

Draco fell back against the headboard, hand still twisted in Hermione’s. She scooted herself back until her head rested against his chest. There were no chances taken when it came to losing the spell. Her eyes stayed on the image so there was no opportunity for it to disappear.

“I could stare at her forever,” Hermione hummed.

“I’m wracked with indecision.”

“Oh?”

His breath was hot against her forehead. She allowed her eyes to drift away from the image of her sleeping daughter to his inverted face above her head.

“I can’t decide whom is the more beautiful. My girlfriend.” He kissed her forehead. “Or my daughter.”

He was so close. The scent of his pumpkin juice from lunch was still on his breath.

“You know…” Her fingers walked up the underside of his throat. “It has been a while since we practiced.”

Draco smirked. “That it has.”

Her cheeks flared a bright pink. “Would you like to?”

“Only on two conditions.”

She elevated her brow in a playful tease. “Oh, yeah? And what are those?”

“One is that her last name is Malfoy. Only Malfoy.”

“Deal.” It was impossible to stop her smile. Who knew what was possible? There might be a time in the future when her own name was Malfoy. “And two?”

“Two, is that you only call me Drake when you want me to drop everything and kiss you.”

“You like me calling you Drake that -.”

There was no need for an answer. He kissed her long and deep until they forgot Hogwarts, and Gryffindor, and everything magical. All they remembered was that they were so in love that nothing could part them.


	4. Part IV

# Part IV:

Christmas eve was the best day ever. It pained Hermione to admit, but it topped all the holidays before it with ease. The day was gorgeous. The weather pleasant. It was beautiful.

Of course, that was nothing compared to the annual party hosted by Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy within their home in Wiltshire coined Malfoy Manor. It was fit for a queen whom she was surprised was not in attendance as everyone else important was invited.

Hermione was adorned with lots of attention and congratulations by people of infinite wisdom and popularity, all at levels of importance larger than her own. Narcissa ensured that Hermione was the center of attention all evening long.

Such attentions aided the connections of the Grangers and the Malfoys. There had been extreme hesitation on her father’s part. The height at which the Malfoy’s enjoyed life was far different than their own. A dentist made a fair living. It was not poverty. But, like all things with the Malfoy family, it did not compare.

Lucius and William were both rigid, upright men who kept their chins even with the floor. Narcissa was warm and welcoming, taking Stacey’s arm like they were old friends, as she showed her around the beautiful Manor. Their happy chuckles sounded through the halls. Though Draco was absent from the tour. His duty was to entertain his guests as a pending heir to such a station.

She refused to be disappointed in his absence. There was so much to be blessed by.

An evergreen tree in every room. Mistletoe and holly and fresh garland. The bewitched ceiling birthed snow. It sparkled against her golden-brown curls like a veil of pure white, the imagery not lost on her. She fluffed the length and the white fell to the floor.

Everything was silver and blue, an icy hue to a warm holiday like Christmas. The Granger’s were a red and green décor type of family. However, it was breathtaking. The Manor was decorated with pristine class. Clear cut and without exaggeration. A massive tree within the middle of the room was white with heaps of snow, as if left to the elements, and glittered with pale blue bulbs and silver tinsel wrapped around the belly. Candles glowed from within. Their hazy light glowed like a full moon in a cloudy night sky. The dance floor looked like a sheet of solid ice. Their feet even left white slices same as an ice skate would.

A parade of family members entered the doors with Narcissa at the head to a barrage of introduction to the relations. Draco tried to step in. His mother was unstoppable on her intent to have her grandchild and its mother boasted about to the whole ancestry.

First was Lucius’ sister. Lucinda Comtois came all the way from France to attend. Her brother and she shared the same intense eyes with intimidating faces of complete indifference but the assumption of fine-point examination. Her words were common and polite.

Then there was Narcissa’s sister, Andromeda Tonks, a healthy, hearty woman with a thundering laugh. She was the opposite of her younger sister. Where there was elegance and grace in Narcissa almost to a fault that was assumed cold natured, Andromeda was as warm without the crushing weight of properness. Her grip was tight as she shook Hermione’s hand.

“Call me Mia,” she said. “No one but Cissy over here calls me Andromeda. Every time I hear it, I think of being caught with my mother’s wand in my hand.” Her eyes flashed a vibrant wink.

It helped a bit of breath trickle into Hermione’s tense lungs. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Mia.”

“Nope. No Mrs. Just Mia.”

The witch waved off any attempt at formality. “Listen there, Hermione. You’re going to be apart of the family now. We’ll be seeing each other at functions, parties, around the city. I’d like to not feel like I’ve got to suck in my gut around you. If you call me Mistress Tonks or merlin forbid Andromeda, I’ll feel like I’ve got to impress you and that it just won’t be the same. Let’s just address each other as friends, yeah?”

That was a strange arrangement that went against everything Hermione knew when speaking within the realm of the Malfoy’s, but she did her duty and agreed to the terms of Andromeda Tonks.

Narcissa blushed incessantly until her sister passed. She leaned over, still with a smile on her face, and whispered, “She’s an elected official for the werewolf territories of the country. It requires she be brash. Werewolves don’t care for blarney.”

They recovered by more introductions of distant cousins. There was only one recognizable face through the crowd of new acquaintances that excited her. It was Regulus, Sirius Black’s younger brother. He was a handsome, young man with black wavy hair that matched his brothers. His face was thinner than that of his older brother, but it was clear that he was of the family Black.

He was surprised to find her there. His eyes opened wider, forehead wrinkled. “Hermione Granger at an event in Malfoy Manor. Wizards above! That is something. Just what did you do to earn an invitation in? Have you made some sort of discovery I wasn’t aware of?”

“Not quite.”

A further wrinkled brow read to his bafflement.

The witch at her side soothed out her dress. “Regulus, you know our Hermione?”

His brows twitched. Regulus had an excess of personality that was only overshadowed by Sirius. He liked to be cheeky. It took him seconds to recover from passing by a statement that warranted a slippery, humorous remark.

“I do. And just how do you know our Hermione?”

“Well.” Narcissa forced a smile. “She happens to be with my son.”

“Draco?”

There was no absence of doubt in his tone.

Sirius and Regulus Black were common the Potter household. They knew the Weasleys closely, as well. Only that summer had they spent the days at the Burrow with Hermione and Ron hand-in-hand.

“Yes. Draco and Hermione are actually expecting. This is her first introduction into the family,” Narcissa explained.

It earned her look. He was only aware of Ronald Weasley as her boyfriend, not Draco Malfoy. She doubted he’d gotten the news yet.

“It’s true.” Her hand touched the swollen bump of her belly that was hidden by the empress waist dress crafted to flatter her rather than highlight the expansion. “I’m with child.”

Regulus dipped his head. “Well, I suppose a congratulations are in order.”

There came a poignant pause in the conversation. It was time for him to move on. There were other people in the line that Narcissa wanted to be introduced before night’s end. The wandering gaze of the Black stumbled upon the urging gaze of the Malfoy Mistress. He tipped his hat and bid a farewell in hasty fashion.

It was forgotten. The night went on.

Pansy Parkinson strode through the welcoming line with her parents and older brothers, Aspen and Arlo. She was embodied in glittery robes that trailed behind her. The drastic black eyeshadow of her eye was eye-catching with winged liner and silver blue glitter below her brows.

“And these are our neighbors and close friends, the Parkinson’s. No doubt you know Pansy. She’s in your year.”

Hermione nodded. “Course. It is nice to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson.”

“And these are our sons -.”

“Cissy!” a shriek interrupted the flow.

Narcissa was immediately grabbed at attention. She fled Hermione’s side to tend to a witch with crazy curled hair, deep and black as night. They shared hushed words. There was great effort by Draco’s mother to steer the witch clear, but the witch kept focused at the head of the line.

It was no leap to guess just to who it was. The witch was an exact copy of Andromeda, only thinner, with wilder wide eyes and unruly hair.

“Please, Bella. I thought you might be tired after your travels,” she heard Narcissa say. “Let’s away. We’ll see you tomorrow for presents.”

The tone was the most improper Narcissa had taken in front of Hermione. It captured all of Hermione’s focus. Something made the proper witch forget herself. That was worth noting.

“What is this line?” The witch flicked her fingers lazily at the people. “You don’t do lines. Lines in a party. Our mother taught us that. Disperse! Disperse I say!”

They breeched the front where the Parkinson family stood with Hermione. Her eyes flashed to her sister.

“Who’s this little chippy?” The woman asked.

A thick sound cleared from the back of Narcissa’s throat. “Hermione Granger, this is my sister, Bellatrix Black. Bella, this is Hermione, Draco’s witch.” She forced a lightness in through her mouth. “Bella is a world traveler. Been all over the globe she has. I didn’t expect her until tomorrow morning.”

The derisive snort erupted from the wild witch’s nose only intensified the atmosphere that Hermione was unsure why was so tense in the first place. Her green eyes burned bright. It matched the creeping, crawling appraisal of their slow motion drag on Hermione’s body.

Narcissa was not one to hold a gentle look in her eye. It was rather deadly. Her sister either pretended or ignored it.

A black boot peeked from below her black lace robes as it stepped forward. Flecks of mud tainted their leather.

“She’s fairly pretty,” Bellatrix pronounced suddenly. “Pudgy round the middle.”

“That is because she’s expecting,” Narcissa hissed a warning.

“Expecting?” The witch echoed with a wave of shock and awe.

Hermione felt the instinct to wrap her arms around her womb to protect the growing child from whatever malice that spilled from the unusual witch’s glare. She allowed a slow ascent. It looked natural. Pregnant woman cradled their bellies often. She saw it. There was nothing strange about it.

“Yes. Hermione is carrying Draco’s child. Isn’t it wonderful, Bella? A Gryfferin in the making.” Narcissa giggled lightly at her joke. It faded when Bella’s wild gaze found hers. “You know. Because our Draco is a Slytherin and Hermione is a Gryffindor. Gryfferin.”

Whatever was said, it was not alright. Bellatrix’s jaw clenched as did the fists at her sides.

“I don’t like her,” she announced.

A blush burned bright. “Bella, please. Remember yourself.”

“Gryffindors are the scum of this world. I spit on them.”

Out of nowhere, Pansy appeared at Hermione’s side with a smooth hand on her wrist. “Let’s go find us some punch.”

It was a welcome reprieve. The idea of being spit on by Narcissa sister brought many issues to the surface. One being how disrespectful it would be to curse Draco’s aunt at a party, but also, how nice it might feel to do so.

Hermione shifted awkwardly under the thick gaze of the witch. “Um, alright.”

Pansy swirled away. She kept a hand on Hermione as they found their way to a refreshment table. A punch bowl sculpted of thick, clear ice held the bright red juice. She found a pair of goblets and handed one over to her friend.

“Quite a family you’ve chosen.” Pansy spoke below the tone of the room. It required Hermione lean closer to hear.

“Who was that woman?”

They found an isolated corner. It was overlooked by light, a perfect spot for private congress. It relieved the pressure of the spotlight that crashed down on Hermione all night as the main guest of the event.

She sipped from the goblet. The moment the punch hit her tastebuds she realized the thirst within. Her cup emptied before Pansy had bothered to smear gloss on the rim.

“Every family has one,” the witch said. “Always. And this is theirs. Narcissa’s eldest sister, Bellatrix Black.”

The name was unknown. As was her face.

The crowd was dense through the dance floor. The line of sight to the hostess and her sister was blocked by a gaggle of numerous witches and wizards and the only two muggles within the room, her parents. They were dancing, laughing, meeting new people. She was glad they hadn’t noticed the disruption. Her father would have been insulted.

“Sirius has never mentioned Bellatrix.”

“They don’t get on,” Pansy explained. “None of them do. Not really. Narcissa tries her best, but her sister is a bit mental.”

She frowned. Draco never mentioned his aunt. She supposed he was sensitive to the fact that her mental faculties weren’t what they were supposed to be.

“She’s not mad in a clinical sense. Only that her tastes are for things fouler. You know, of the political sabotage variety.”

Hermione’s eyes doubled in size. “What? The Ministry of Magic doesn’t do that.”

A knowing look subsided the shock. Of course, they did. Every country was full of spies.

At long last, Pansy sipped from her goblet.

“What do you know?”

“You want me to tell you everything?” The slender arched brow arched even higher on her face. “Then you must swear to never utter a word of it. News like this is traced. Traced through their networks It is the realm of the aristocracy. Nothing is secret. Everything is leverage. But it comes at a price. If you tell anyone, they’ll discover it was from the Parkinson’s, and we’ll never be trusted again.”

That did not sound like a fun web to be apart of. Always watching their back, never settled, afraid of what word might turn them in. It reminded her of the tension through Gryffindor table.

Honesty was a better policy than all that.

Still, she wanted to know the mystery of Draco’s aunt.

“I won’t tell.” She agreed.

“My father has an office on the top floor of our house. He wants the view to impress his visitors and whatnot. And I used to play in the attic as a girl. There are treasures up in those rafters just forgotten by my family. Anyway, I was up there doing the usual surveillance of the heirlooms when I heard my father from inside his office. He was in council with Lucius Malfoy. He said that Bellatrix was really a spy for the Ministry. They had been using her for years to do their dirty work. You know that headless, fingerless corpse they found in Bulgaria? Her handywork. She found a little leak of information within their Ministry to a private citizen in Bulgaria who in turn used it to sell their papers. It was Bellatrix who found the man and did whatever she did to him before his body was found.”

It was a sick feeling. She’d come so close to a monster.

“That isn’t even the scandalous thing in Bellatrix’s past,” Pansy snorted.

“What could be more than murder?”

There was not a single thing more horrendous than murder. Even if he was a traitor, he had the right to his life. They were not barbaric.

“The reason she don’t like Gryffindors.”

Hermione deflated. “There are plenty who don’t. I wouldn’t say I’m a huge fan of them at the moment, being their latest prey.”

“Truth is, something else changed her mind about them. All of the sudden, she can’t stand them. Any Gryffindor is cut off. She won’t speak to them or hear of them speaking to her.”

“She’s hardly the first to be that way,” she replied flatly. “There are many with house bias.”

The Malfoys ushered the witch away with all their persistence. Their eyes scanned to ensure it was out of sight. Hermione only saw through the part in the crowd as Bellatrix was pushed deeper into the house and away from the party. Draco was not among them. He was off with his friends Goyle and Crabbe not so secretly listening to a Quidditch match of Appleby Arrows and the Montrose Magpies.

“Her family tried to hide the fact that she was pregnant outside of marriage,” Pansy said with a raised brow. “They went to great lengths to disguise it in fact. What a dishonor. Truly, a black mark against any family.”

The tone did not settle Hermione’s belly. Her daughter did flips amongst the tissues, a sign of her tension.

“That does not sound like the Narcissa I know. She’s been so supportive of me and Draco.”

“Not that!” Pansy touched her wrist. “They’re over the moon about you two, Merlin’s sake. Bellatrix’s situation is different. It was rumored that she was impregnated by a married man.”

That made Hermione gasp. “An affair?”

“That resulted in the birth of Delphi Black, a little witch who lives with a witch called Euphemia Rowle up north. She was given to Euphemia right around the time that Bellatrix was no longer swollen like a watermelon. It was easy to put it together. I don’t know why they bothered with a pathetic coverup. Everyone knows.”

“I can’t believe they’d usher the child away like that.” It was sad to think that it was a similar circumstance as she was. Her own daughter to be shipped off with a friend unknown to the world or her parents. What a retched life. So sad that it made her filled with disgust.

Her hands touched the swell of her belly. She knew that her child would never meet such an end. She was loved so deeply. Draco loved their daughter already. He was obsessed. He loved to touch the growing expansion flat which housed his child.

It was good to know that in the end of it all, Draco would not let their child be forgotten.

“Bellatrix hated the baby. She wanted nothing to do with her when she was born. Just looking at her made her furious enough to curse someone.”

“Her own child?” Again, her jaw dropped.

“Delphini was born with a hair full of vibrant red hair.”

Vibrant red hair?

“It apparently reminded her of the father that promised to leave his wife and didn’t.” Pansy’s lips pursed together with two large eyes.

Oh. Vibrant red hair, affair, Ministry. Hermione knew why she hated Gryffindors. When their eyes collided, she guessed that Pansy knew it, too.

It was a Weasley!

Her eyes grew twice as large. Pansy nodded in confirmation. Bellatrix daughter was of Arthur Weasley’s genes.

“Oh Merlin.” Hermione breathed.

“Hermione,” a voice called. It was suddenly near.

She jumped and spilled her punch down the front of her dress. It soaked through instantly. Sticky liquid coated Hermione’s belly and thighs.

Her mother held her breath. “Oh, dove. I’m so sorry. Aw, look at your dress! It’s ruined.”

“Allow me,” Pansy declared. The subtle wave of her wand vanquished the punch away. It was removed of her flesh and the fibers. Soon enough, the dress was impeccable.

Stacy Granger grinned. “Brilliant. Thank you. Hermione, Narcissa has someone she’s dying for you to meet. Come, come.”

“Remember your promise. Not a word,” Pansy whispered as a final goodbye.

Hermione was ushered away into the fray, to forget the nonsense of Bellatrix Black and Arthur Weasley. It was easily done. The diversions of a beautiful party with flowing lights and endless laughs was the place in which thoughts bubbled away through the course of it.

By the end of the night, Stacey and Narcissa had planned a shopping trip and a stop at a café in the city. It was met with the eventual convincing of their husbands to join them. Both men were less than enthusiastic but obliged their wives.

Draco beamed with joy. They were finally joined. His eyes shimmered under the blue holiday lights as they passed on their carriage pulled by two snow white horses. They rose through the grounds under cover of a dense blanket. He held her close. She nuzzled in.

The light playful white rained down on them as their journey on the Malfoy estate grounds took them farther and farther from the house. There were twinkling lights above their heads like stars, until they fell down on shimmering strings to just graze the tip of their noses. Candy stripes lined the horses’ trail. They swirled as the carriage passed. There were trees of pure light. Fantastic popping snowflakes that smelled like peppermint. Hot cocoa cups appeared within the carriage. It warmed Hermione’s hands to hold.

She refused to leave the cradle of his side; it was the only time alone they got all night.

Lucius and Narcissa supplied two guest suites for the Granger’s since the party last well into the early morning hours and a drive back into the city was too long. Hermione was given an ocean blue room with a king sized bed, a private loo, the dazzling show outside the window of the holiday lights all aglow on the stretching lawns, and a cupboard full of pajamas of every size and style and color. Many were made of satin. The moment her fingers collided with their sooth finish, she had to slip inside them. She chose pastel pink.

Just as she had finished her buttons (luckily the clothes were armed with a charm to conform to her bump), the door quietly slid open. A figure of black emerged. It was topped with brilliant blonde hair.

“I might have been nude,” she chastised.

It was lucky that it was dimly lit or her cherry red blush might have given him a clue that she was more than excited to see him.

A finger went to his lips. “Sh. Do you want to wake the whole place?”

She rolled her eyes. An ancient house as that was well warded. Every suite was given a privacy charm, no doubt. It would be unseemly to have the unusual noises of a guests nightly or daily activities flow into the atmosphere of the house.

“Thought you were so exhausted you had to retire.”

“I was,” he replied stealing a kiss. “I am exhausted of partying. But I’m not tired of you. We’ve barely had time at all since my mother paraded you around all night.” He appraised the length of her body. “Nice jammies.”

“Thanks. They’re actually from your parents. Your mother, I suspect.”

“Ah, well. She knows your colors. Yeah, my mother has been preparing this suite ever since she got the news,” Draco commented. His arms snaked their way around her expanding body. The smell of his freshly washed hair filled her nostrils with his honey shampoo. “It has come a long way from being her chambers. I prefer it this way than the rose gold and champagne.”

“Her chambers,” she echoed. “Your mother used to live here?”

He nodded. “When she courted my father, yeah. The next mistress of Malfoy Manor always takes this suite before the master. After they’re married. My mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and so on.”

Mistress of Malfoy Manor.

Her strength waivered. She looked around the fabulous furnishings and welcoming allure. It was made for her. Meant for her. But, something was not right.

“I’m honored your parents would deem me worthy of it,” Hermione replied. “They’ve been so kind to me. It makes me feel guilty.”

Draco liked to nuzzle his face in her hair. He rubbed his nose through the loose curls, burying his face in the scent of her almond shampoo, and holding her close.

“Guilty?” He murmured throughout the strands of her hair. One forgotten pin in her hair poked his nose. His gentle fingers removed it. The small thing was tossed atop chest of drawers, it’s soft clatter the only sound within the house. “It is no bother. We can afford it.”

She shook her head. “No. It isn’t that.”

Rigidity summoned up through his limbs. They clenched her taut and refused to move.

“Then what is it?”

“I just…”

“What?” He barked, softly though. “You just what?”

“I don’t belong here,” she said.

He exhaled a long breath. “It may take a while, but you will acclimate to the wealth. I know it is a lot to take in all at once.”

The wealth? Merlin, that was the last of her worries. Well, not last. But not the first either.

“No. I mean, I don’t belong here, at this station in your house. I’m a fraud, an intruder. All these people came here to meet the witch you want as part of their lives, the next to continue the line of Malfoys, and I am not that witch.”

Draco Malfoy deserved a witch with honor and dignity. It was expected of his house, his family, his station within the world. She would ruin all that. He was born with endless hope on the horizon, every horizon in every direction in which she looked.

A night of joy and pure enthrallment, she felt the surge of love within her. She knew it was there. Her heart thudded each time he entered a room or caught her gaze. There was no part of her that wasn’t obsessed with the way he cared for her. It was mythical, mystical, pure magic. Unbelievable and intangible. But the way the baby danced within her womb at his proximity only spoke to the bodily response to him.

He was everything that was right with the world and that was why she had to let him go.

“You’re not an intruder!” He roughly took her hands and held them in his. “How can you say that?”

“This belongs to another witch. It all belongs to someone else who isn’t just a witch who needed help to escape a tosser,” she explained. “The only reason we became anything is because I was pregnant, and you felt compelled to save me. It was noble. I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know, but I can’t take this away from you. You should have chosen a witch for this suite on your own, without influence.”

She tried to revoke her hands, but his held too tightly. His eyes burned holes through her face, the lack of her eyes in his only fueled their fires brighter against the flesh.

“I told you it was just us. No one else.”

“That’s because there can’t be. Your parents won’t allow another witch with me in the picture,” she retorted. With a breath, she told him of her plan. “If you tell them the truth, explain the lie, they’ll forgive you. They’ll let you forget all this.”

“Stop it, Hermione. You know I won’t do that.”

“Don’t feel guilty about me. I’ll make do. I can face the consequences of my decision.”

He shook his head, in disbelief with himself and her.

His voice fell low. “Why are you saying this? Is it because – because you love Weasel? Do you want to go back to him?”

It almost felt awful enough to bring sobs to her chest at the sound of his voice. Her eyes filled with water as her lips sputtered around for the right way to explain just why they had to part. It took a few silent deep breaths before they came out in coherent thought.

“Nothing on this planet repulses me more than Ronald. I can’t even begin to document all the ways I’d like to hurt him.” She allowed herself to swallow back all the horrendous names she thought to call him instead of Ronald. His formal name was all she could do to keep her anger in check. If she were to call him ‘Ron’ and remember all the memories of their friendship soured by his recent behavior, it might start a revenge pyre that she would quench with his humiliation. “No. It is not Ron.”

“Then who? Who is it that makes you say these things?”

Her lips quivered. “You. You are. You,” she swallowed again. The rising tide of sadness was near the edge. “You have so many choices in life. I can’t force this choice onto you.”

His lips scowled. The tone of his voice dropped to a rumbling growl. “What the hell are you talking about? I chose. I chose you! I chose you first year. I chose you after you dated that idiot. I chose you after Yule Ball. I chose you year after year until it was your time to choose me. Don’t you understand? This was always my plan. I wanted Hermione Granger, the unstoppable genius. The witch who stunned everyone at Yule and still had to watch her end the night in tears because of some no-good wizard who didn’t deserve her. Open your eyes, Granger.” He swallowed. “Now stop pushing me away and tell me you love me.”

Tears fell from her eyes. She made no attempt to wipe them away. They were beautiful and pitiful all at once and she had to feel them to ensure the moment was real. It was. He was there, in front of her.

It was a clambering effort to be in his arms, but she managed to wedge her awkwardly shaped body flush with his and sob into his shirt like a frightened child. He was silent as she did. His hands smoothed her hair. The rate of his breath helped calm hers.

A damp, rugged smear spread across the front of his shirt. She tried to wipe it away.

“Oh, no.” She dragged her palms against his torso.

“Leave it,” he murmured. “It doesn’t matter.”

Her shiny wet eyes looked up at his. “I love you, Drake.”

The faint outline of his lips through the fading light twisted to a small smile. “I love you, love.”

He kissed her deeply. Their lips tangled in the drenched need of love.

They ended their night cuddled together in a bed of silken white sheets. He laid on his back with her curled into the divot of his shoulder. His fingers toyed with the ends of her hair as they laid there late into the night.

The rest of their holiday was spent with their families. They Owl’d constantly. Hermione missed him with the aching of her heart. Being away from someone she connected with every day was harder than she thought.

No. Someone she loved. Someone she loved, every day.

That was an odd taste in her mouth. She loved Draco. The words still felt foreign. The same word that she once said to Ron was now the word she used to express her feelings for Draco. They were impossible to compare. Emotions she had for Ronald Weasley were minimal, at best. A teaspoon. Whereas Draco Malfoy, the was the cup, the pitcher, the wagon load.

It was on the last day before holiday end that she was surprised by a visit from a Hogwarts friend, but not one she expected.

Her parents had popped out for a trip to the market. So, Hermione had done a morning of pampering. She deep conditioned her hair, took a long bubble bath, lotioned herself top to bottom, and ended it with a facial mud mask. It was a deep green. The bottle said it required twenty minutes up to one hour to really reap the benefits of the mud.

Time at home had done her well. She was virtually free of her morning sickness. Her mind felt clearer, less dizzy. An appetite had yet to emerge other than the honest hunger at mealtimes. She expected a large uptick in her daily consumption given the fact that her belly kept growing.

Hermione wore a thin camisole and a pair of matching faux silk shorts beneath a fluffy coral robe as she read her book with a cup of tea in her hand. An overlooked scone was on the table losing its warmth with each passing sentence. She’d forgotten all about the worries that plagued her every day. All in all, a wonderful time.

Then the bell rang.

She rose up without concern. The ring was bound to be Mrs. Adelman from next door. She liked to visit Stacey Granger for the fresh baked scones since Mrs. Adelman’s joints were too stiff to roll out the dough anymore. The poor woman liked to pretend it was for the company, but it was clear by the joy in her eyes as she nibbled on the crumbly pastry that she was after a piece of home cooked goods that reminded her of better times.

Hermione wasn’t concerned about her appearance when she swung the door open. It only happened to shock her that a little woman with gray gurls wasn’t on the stoop. It was Harry Potter!

“Harry?” She pulled her robe closed tight against her chest. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “My parents went to visit the Dudley’s so I thought I might pop in and - .”

“Avoid the visit?” Her brow lifted.

She never approved of his muggle family members. They sounded selfish. However, she didn’t like being a convenient excuse for him to avoid them either. She was a person. Not an object to be used.

“They only stopped for tea,” Harry pleaded. “It won’t be long. Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve talked. We missed you in Godric’s Hollow this holiday. Sirius and Remus asked about you.”

“I’m sure Ron set them straight seeing as he can’t keep his mouth shut about what a whore I am.”

“He didn’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Come in. Only for a bit, though. I don’t want my parents catching sight of you and asking questions. It’s difficult enough already.”

The brunette stepped inside. He was familiar with the Granger’s home. He spent plenty of time on holiday with Ron and Hermione that their homes were just as comfortable as his own. The wizard removed his shoes at the door.

Hermione flopped onto her parent’s sofa. He took the other side.

It was a sunny day despite the dead of winter. Sun rained in through the opened windows with brilliance. Malfoy Manor had to be so gorgeous in the open sunlight. Flowers that lined the house were in bloom year round. Their large flowers spread large, damp from morning dew, vibrant colors of every shade.

Draco invited her around, but she decided some time with her parents was more important. If only she’d known about Harry’s little visit, she’d have left for Malfoy Manor just to avoid it.

Harry rubbed the smudges off his glasses with the edge of his shirt. It left a residue. His eyes crossed a little as he appraised the damage.

It bothered her to no end.

“Is there a reason you’ve come here?” She snapped. “If so, get to it quickly. I’m terribly busy.”

“Mione. You’re in a bathrobe with stuff on your face. How busy can you be?”

Godric bloody damn hell, she forgot about the mud mask.

She grunted in frustration as she made her way to the kitchen tap to vigorously remove the gunk from her face. “I happen to be very busy, Harry Potter. Growing limbs, making blood, and carrying around a 20-centimeter uterus filled with fluid!”

The ice-cold water stung her cheeks. Rivers of fluid cut down the sides of her neck as she splashed the water against her face in an uncouth fashion. The towel patted across her forehead, down her nose, all the way to her chest where some of the murky green water had trickled. She tossed the thing to the ground.

“At least it looks good on you,” he said.

She scoffed. “I’ve been starving for four straight months.”

“You can’t tell.”

Her foot suddenly stomped against the ground. “Damn it, Harry. You can’t do this to me. Yo-you were my friend, too. Not just Ron’s. You should have been there for me. I was the one who needed you. _Needed you_. You can’t just come back here like nothing is wrong because no one at school can see. It is as empty as my interest in talking to you.”

There were days when she pleaded with Merlin and Godric Gryffindor that Harry might find her alone and explain his reasoning for not helping her. She thought up all sorts of excuses he might say that she’d accept: Ron blackmailed him, he was being bullied too, Ron lied about what happened between them. None of those were realistic. She knew Ron wasn’t like that with Harry. He respected him.

Back then, she would have accepted it though. She was so desperate for friendship in those lonely days. Before Draco came along and when Gryffindor all turned on her, Harry was the one she needed to get through.

All those years she took for granted what strength that came from having friends. It was harder to be strong when there was no one else in the world who supported you, believed in you, was there to stand by your side. Sure, it was easy to say that she was weak. It was a light finger to lift in blame.

The more intimate look was a cloudy sight. The strain to identify what was the cause.

Hermione was stronger with a pack. Her pride, once the lions of Hogwarts. They rose to her sides at the slightest provocation. Words flowed easier when she knew there was little fight from opponents. A firm resolve formed under the pressure of a thousand other resolves bound in blood and family and friendship and alliance with one another.

There was no mystery as to why the strong relied on others; it was their epicenter.

“I thought you might like some company,” Harry said innocently.

As if she needed his! She hadn’t gotten it all term. Now, suddenly, she was supposed to be thankful for his notice.

“Honestly! Don’t you think it’s a bit late for your company? I’ve moved on from it.”

“I didn’t come for a fight, Mione, alright? You don’t have to take out the claws with me. Things haven’t been easy for me either. All I’ve heard is Ron bitch about all term is you and your bloody baby.”

She held a feign frown in pathetic sadness as he painted himself in. “Aw. I’m sorry. That must have been so difficult for you. All that bitching must have ruined your life.”

He did not appreciate her mocking. His hand tossed a sofa pillow off the edge.

Harry Potter was not an angry person. Laidback, supportive, quiet, a bit lazy. But angry? No.

Her eyes rolled. “Get out, Harry. Just leave. I haven’t got the time for cheap theatrics and your sob story. It may have escaped your notice, but my problems are a bit more important than the petty complaints about Ronald’s spewing filth.”

“I came to make amends. Amends. For Ron. He wants to make things right so that things can go back to the way they were. Just the three of us.”

“You couldn’t possibly think I’d be interested in that.”

“Come on, Mione. Like old times. No more Draco and Slytherin. Aren’t you sick of them already? I’m sure McGonagall would let you move back into Gryffindor Tower. We can stay up late studying by the fire again and listening to the wizard’s chess games. Let it be the way it was. Before. You can come back.”

There was no going back.

Their lives were forever changed. A child changed her whole world as well as the ones around her. Harry did not see how much. He only felt the difference as it affected himself. Not her.

A being depended upon her for everything from nourishment to protection to love to comfort. Deep within her loins was a cluster of cells growing strength every day. It would enter the world just as fragile as it was in the womb and require her every second of the day for months. All her concentration, all her focus, all her concern, only occupied by her child. Not a soul else mattered. Except Draco, of course.

Hermione let the realization find itself in soft touches throughout her until she was let to the truth of the matter: she’d outgrown Gryffindor. She’d outgrown Harry.

She touched his shoulder. “Harry. There is no back.”

“Just come back,” he said. “Things will be the same.”

“No.” She shook her head. His eyes were not wide enough. “No. They won’t. My life is not the same. I’m going to be a mum. A mum, Harry. That is beyond Gryffindor Tower and Ron and studying by the fire. I’ve got a future to worry about. Money and a career and childcare and nappy prices and baby-proofing and breastfeeding and sleepless nights and teething and toilet training. That is all that will be. No more sneaking around the castle or Quidditch. No more making sure you and Ron pass your classes. It is all gone.”

It was unclear whether he’d truly considered the fact of her pregnancy fully, whether he realized that a child would exit her and live with her. He blinked quite a few times. His green eyes wrapped in a haze as he processed the information.

“Oh.” His voice echoed.

She gave him a pat. “Go on. The time has come for us to part.”

Her mind bitterly reminded her that their parting happened months prior, the wizard was too thick to realize it.

Harry shuffled awkwardly back through the house he once knew as a friend’s home back to a doorway that would likely never welcome him again. He might have thought it. She did. She watched his feet slip into his shoes against her parent’s vinyl flooring and let the memory seep into her mind. It would be the one thing she remembered Harry Potter for. He was a good enough friend, if no one disputed it.

Her parents returned an hour after Harry left. They gave her hugs tighter than she remembered them ever giving.

Her mother made a favorite meal of roasted ham and rosemary potatoes. They all dined together in a farewell meal followed by scoops of ice cream in front of the telly. It was the late hours of the night that they all decided to turn in. The morning was greeted with the remorseful light of Hogwarts return.

Hermione was packed and ready. Stacey and William gave cheerful smiles forced to their max. As if she didn’t know how they felt.

“It’s going to be alright,” she promised. “I’m looking forward to going back to Hogwarts. My timetable has many interesting classes. Gryffindor leaves me alone. And Lucius and Narcissa have made sure all my needs will be taken care of. Draco won’t let anything slip through.”

She held her father tighter. His heavy weight against her shoulders made her calm.

“We know, dove. We know.” Her mother sniffled. “Draco has been a godsend, hasn’t he?”

“He has,” Hermione confirmed. “He cares for me deeply. And the baby. He’s going to be such a father.”

William lifted a bushy brow. His beady eye visible for a moment. “Indeed.”

“Don’t you like him, Daddy? He does nothing but cater to me. It is entirely too much.”

“You deserve too much.”

They loaded into the car. Her trunk filled the boot entirely. She was allowed a seat in the front as it was easier. Her mother slipped into the back, legs stretched out over the back seats as they drove to the platform.

“The wizard is very smitten with you,” Stacey Granger added.

Her daughter flushed pink and tried to avoid the statement as best she could. “The Malfoys dote on me so. They have a form submitted to the headmaster so that I’ll be given leave to Malfoy Manor to deliver the baby. It’s the only way to have you there for the birth. They weren’t going to let you be there otherwise.”

“Its safe to say the whole lot of them Malfoys are smitten with you.” Her dad chuckled.

“Dad,” she groaned. Her head rolled back against the seat. “Don’t you start too.”

“It is nothing to be embarrassed about. You are only pregnant with his child. It’s safe to be sweet on the boy,” he answered.

The conversation roused her mother’s attention whole heartedly. She rose from occupying all the seats in the back end of the car to fully erect and face right between the front seats. Her excited glee made Hermione cringe.

It was only by fate that it was done in the protection of a private car than in the crowded platform.

“Did he tell you how he felt on holiday?” She asked.

Hermione’s turned fifty shades of mortified. “Mum! Please.”

“Oi. What are you on about?” William asked, looking away from the road to gaze at his wife.

She tapped his shoulder. “Narcissa said that Draco’s been in love with Hermione for years. She saw him nervously pacing around all holiday long. She thought he might say the ‘L’ word.”

The ‘L’ word was not for public spectacle. Good grief. They’d only just admitted to themselves that they loved each other, now the whole world knew.

“ _The ‘L’ word?_ ” Hermione snickered. “What am I? Five? I can say the word love you know.”

That was the last bit of dignity she had.

Her mother and father were all too pleased with themselves. The way they smiled with their tongue in cheek made Hermione sick. She crossed her arms tight against herself to block out their probing gazes.

She’d never do this to her own daughter. It was bound to haunt Hermione for days. Their twinkling eyes like they’d just discovered state secrets. The devils. No. She couldn’t dare to look at them.

The car was filled with the tunes of the radio that she adjusted loud enough so conversation was not encouraged. It provided a lovely noise to silence the rumbling of her thoughts. There was no denying that returning to Hogwarts was going to be different this time around. Her belly would grow larger than a turkey and she’d walk around like she’d been stuffed the same.

There would be the horrid thought of breaking her water in class. For all to see.

Godric, just the image of Professor Snape’s face alone made her hope and pray and plead to Merlin that it would happen anywhere else except Potions. She’d never feel the same after having a professor watch the inner contents of her body spill on the floor in a bloody mess.

The music fell low. Awareness came back to her mind.

“Have you thought of any names?” Her mother asked. “I’ve had a few that I think you’ll enjoy.”

Hermione adjusted in her seat. “Let’s hear them. I’ve had a few but I’m not in love with them yet.”

“Pandora I thought sounded cute. You know. From that Pandora’s box thingy.”

Her brow flew off her face and into traffic. “You mean, the end of the world Pandora thing?”

“It was just a suggestion,” Stacey huffed. She was disappointed by the unbridled critique. “I’ve got more. Hally, Celeste, Gaia, Hazel, Juno. Oh, I love that one. Juno Malfoy. It is very darling.”

They weren’t awful, per se. It just didn’t ring well.

None felt worthy of a Malfoy name. The weight of their father’s house would crush little flimsy names. It had to be solid and strong. A name that held as much as honor and mystique as Draco’s did.

Her father frowned. “Bit odd, aren’t they? Sound like they’re apart of the Spice Girls, only in space. Space Girls.”

“Well, then William,” her mother hissed through her teeth. “What names would you suggest?”

“Ruth. Ida. Alice. Katherine. Phillipa. Agatha.”

“Agatha? You’ve got to be joking.”

William shrugged. “What? It’s a pretty name.”

“It also happens to be the name of your first girlfriend.”

“That was thirty years ago!”

King’s Cross station came into view. They were almost to the platform. Hermione had felt tense to return, but now with the heat of the car building over baby names, she’d never felt happier to see the building. She distracted their discussion to bring it into focus.

They parked. The trunk was unloaded onto a trolley. It was a familiar path they wore before. Years and years of returning to the same platform after entering the same wall in the train station. It brought them to the platform where all the little witches and wizards gathered with their parents to await the departure of the red Hogwarts Express.

Through the jumble of people, the Granger’s found the Malfoy’s.

Narcissa took to a regal and stoic greeting though the light behind her eyes said she was more than thrilled. Lucius, too, seemed to hold a more relaxed form to his face.

Hermione had planned a Christmas present for the pair of them. She had found a way to capture an image of the baby within her stomach. It was framed in a pink frame with the word ‘witch’ adorned in shiny rhinestones. She asked Draco to present it to them Christmas morning as a surprise.

Neither of them revealed to their parents that they had seen the baby or knew the gender.

According to all reports, his mother was so ecstatic that she broke down in tears over it. She placed it front and center on the mantle in their parlor so they might look at it with ease. Draco wrote that he saw his father gazing at it more than once with a less than dry eye.

The news at the Granger household was taken in a different way. Her father was shocked that, yet another girl was entering his life.

He’d been ready for football and cricket and trucks and all the things that little boys loved to do. It was the not-so-secret desire he’d had. A grandson. Someone to finally do the boy things with.

None the less, they were all very happy.

Draco took her in his arms, albeit at a proper distance. An audience of their peers and parents gave a stilted exchange on the platform. He still whispered in her ear how much he missed her, and it was relief that they were joined again.

Not long after, they were in the private carriage on the train with Goyle and Crabbe on the way out of London and into the bogs of Scotland.


	5. Part V

# Part V:

Term passed much as it had beforehand. Only Draco’s affections for Hermione grew more outward. He held her hand and kissed her cheek. She was surprised by confectionaries some days and others it would be a necklace or a flower. Her suite was overtook with the lavish attentions that came from the Malfoy family.

He managed to make every day a reminder that she was loved.

As was their daughter.

The little witch was not born, yet she was possibly the most spoiled child to have been thought of. The Malfoy family wealth was endless, as was Draco’s need to lavish her with gifts. It came to a point where she had to ask him to stop before she needed three trunks to return home.

Their bond strengthened daily. The shared responsibilities of being Prefects and students with top marks subtly pulled them closer and closer together, as if it’d been possible to do so. Draco and Hermione’s lives became all about one another.

Potions class became a race. They each went through the instructions as quickly as they could to try to beat the other. Herbology went much the same way, only with deadly plants.

Quidditch was the only relief in each other’s company. Draco was the Slytherin house Seeker. It was a duty that was important and skilled. Professor Snape refused any special treatment for him as a player, so he was expected to every practice, no matter how long they practiced. More than once, Draco had practice into the late evening, only a spot of a meal, before he had to study before curfew, then patrol half the night.

Hermione knew that his commitment to his obligations was paramount, otherwise she would have asked Draco to quit. It was a pace impossible to keep. And what of, when their daughter was born? Would be ever be present?

Late one night when Draco was on patrol, Hermione studied in her suite when something happened. Something big and unexpected. It was unlike the movement she felt for the month prior. It was stronger. She felt it move the back of the textbook perched atop her belly.

She stopped writing. Her hands fumbled with the layers of clothing until they were wretched up at her waist with the naked expanse of her impregnated belly in full view. The sensation started again. Small bumps rose up through the pale flesh. She watched the elbows and knees of her daughter brush the surface of the skin and shifted her stomach ever so slight.

It was enough to send her to her feet.

“Draco!” She exclaimed.

It was a force of habit. Even when she knew he wasn’t there, her lips cried out for him.

The baby’s movements were not the first she felt, but if she could see them, it meant that Draco might be able to feel it, too. He’d been manic for weeks trying to feel the movements ever since they reached the stage in which it was possible.

Hermione pulled on her fluffy slippers and took off through the castle. She knew how to find him. Draco was a creature of habit, trekking the same course every night as he patrolled the corridors for wayward students, and that made it easy for her to locate him in an enormous castle. The light at the end of his wand was the only light through the darkness of a stretching hall. It swung back and forth as a spotlight.

She excitedly jogged forward. The sound of her slippers shuffling alerted a change in Draco’s search. He spun around with a wand thrust ahead.

“Who’s there?” He projected firmly.

Her arm shielded her eyes. She stopped.

“Hermione? What are you doing out of bed? Is something wrong? Is it the baby?”

“Yeah,” she blurted excitedly. Both her palms dropped to her stomach. The sign of life below had stalled, but it was not lost. The run had disrupted the comfort calm their child was used to residing in. She now kicked without mercy at the shift. “Come quick. Before I lose it.”

His arms suddenly held her waist. “Let’s get you to hospital.”

“No. Not that. Wait, let go. Here.”

There was a fight over hands, but he allowed her to press his flush against her belly. The thumping pumping of their daughter’s fury was a jumble of soft bumps against their fingers.

The moment Draco felt them, she knew. His face changed from concern to a wide-eyed haze.

He went to his knees. Between his hands rested her belly. It went still as Draco’s breath quieted.

Hermione watched him with a strange need to study this reaction.

When their daughter moved and kicked once more, her father was overcome with a large grin. He followed the motions of limbs as they stretched across the belly, only to be lost, then reemerge some place else. The grin spread throughout his features, up to his silvery eyes which warmed to the pale love of moonlight.

She was happy about their baby, but her emotions never compared to that of his. He loved the child without question. That kind of faith was something she was uncertain of.

“How do you do that?” She asked him.

Again, his palm swiped across as their daughter’s arm did the same. “Do what?”

“How are you so affected by something you can’t even see? I mean, it could be an alien for all we know.”

Draco rose to his feet. His hands dusted the filth of the floors off his knees. A curious tilted gaze at her face. “But she’s not,” he said. “She’s our daughter.”

“You might not feel the same way if she were a Hufflepuff or hated Quidditch or perhaps, was a squib. What if she’s a squib? Or, deformed? Would you love her if she was deformed?”

Godric, now all the what-ifs flew through her lips, she realized just how unknown a child was. There was no guarantee that their daughter would be smart or magical or impressive in any way. Everyone expected her to be. She was the daughter to the two most impressive people of their age. Of course, there was pressure that their daughter succeed in the same fashion.

But the world had no idea of what end that genetics dropped. She was a Weasley. The only thing the Weasley’s seemed blessed with is fertility!

Hermione felt the panic rush up. She balled her fists and started to pace.

Everything went back to her initial emotion of wanting to terminate. Why hadn’t she followed her gut? Why had she allowed herself to ignore the situation and then embrace it like some lunatic?

Tears surged through, a victor over her reigning indifference. Their wet slide down her cheeks was a wretched feeling she wished away with all her might. Alas, the powers refused. More tears flowed down.

“Hermione, whoa, hey. What’s wrong?” Draco asked.

She shook her head. No. She couldn’t do this. Motherhood? Who was she kidding? A baby was not meant for Hermione Granger. It asked too much of her. Too much.

Sadness was an impossible thing to shake once set. It welled up through everything. Her chest rattled with rising sobs. Painful, pathetic sobs. Her hands trembled. They were placed against her mouth, so that the sobs might not escape. Droplets coated her fingers, weaving through their locked defense, leaving their glistening, salty trail like a slugs.

Two strong arms looped over her shoulders, through her arms and pulled her tight in an embrace. It held her in place. No more hiding her cries or pacing away her anxiety. It all hit like a curse.

“It’s going to be alright,” Draco cooed in her ear as she cried. “We are going to make it through.”

Tears streamed down her face. Gasping breaths sounded through the corridors. Their echoes were pure grief.

Draco held her until the tears stopped and her body went still within his grasp. All the while, his face was against hers. The steadiness of his breath held calm hers. All at once, they were drenched in the quiet of the castle, the only living things awake within the encroaching darkness.

Her voice whispered out hollowly, “I cannot do this.”

He held her tighter. “You can do anything, Granger.”

That nickname reminded her of a different time. A low time. When the world had shown an ugly face to her and left her to wither away in loneliness. The blood that drained of her wrist that day brought no relief other than the momentary pause in pain, not the end of her suffering.

“You can let yourself love something. Not all love is pain.”

Easy for him to say. Every single person in his life ensured his love would never wane. He was a prince. There was enough room for a prince’s love, always.

She shook her head.

“Just because Weasel broke your heart like the weasel he is, and Harry Potter hadn’t the backbone to stick to your side, doesn’t mean that I will do the same. Nor will the baby. You’re going to be her mum. A mother. You remember your mum, yeah?”

She exhaled an exaggerated breath. “Yeah.”

“Could you ever break your mum’s heart?”

“No,” she answered in a quiet voice. “Never.”

“Exactly. Now think of our little girl. Intelligent. Beautiful. Devilishly charming. Just like her father.” He flexed his eyebrows to encourage a laugh. It worked. A small smile tainted her lips. “She’s going to worship her mother. You know why?”

Hermione shook her head.

“Because I’m never going to let her forget just how perfect you are.” His lips gave a soft kiss against her temple. “Besides, remember what Professor Burbage said? A mother bonds with their baby. It’s a natural process. It is impossible for you to fight nature. Even if you are kid wonder, Hermione Granger. You’re not that good.”

She laughed. “I’m not, eh?”

“Afraid not, love. You’re going to love your baby, no matter what.”

The comfort of logic calmed her fears. Nature did ensure that all species survived. Her daughter would love her because the poor thing had no choice. She depended upon Hermione for survival. Likewise, to continue the human race, mothers’ bond with their babies to be interested in keeping them alive. It was all instinct. Same as it was in animals and magical creatures. They all want their offspring to survive so they themselves might make offspring and thus continue the line.

Draco finally released Hermione from his grasp. Freedom throughout her limbs, the relieved pressure, a startling surge of blood flow to her limbs.

He touched her shoulder. “Come now. Let’s get you to bed. You look tired.”

They started back through the castle. Its darkness a constant, but quiet without threat. The castle slept. As all things did.

“I’m not,” she retorted. “All I did was sleep before. Now I’ve finally got energy.”

“Ah, yes. That stage. I remember Professor Burbage saying that.”

“Do you also remember what she said might happen with my energy?”

She thought the implication was rather obvious, but it seemed to fly overtop his rather handsome head. Draco thought a moment. His nose wrinkled as he considered what else he’d learned in their added elective class of “Childhood Development and Parenting.”

“Reflux?”

She growled playfully. “No. Well, yes. That’s possible, but not what I meant.”

The door of her suite came into view. The sconce ignited alive with fire as they neared.

“I meant something along the lines of positive.”

“Your breasts aren’t sore anymore?”

It might have seemed a tad overdramatic to choke on her breath, but his mention of her breasts startled her and made all other breaths a struggle through the gasps.

Draco opened the door to her private chambers with a scowl. “No need to laugh to me, Granger. It’s impossible to keep up with all the millions of changes you’re going through.”

The fireplace was dwindling downward. Darkness was growing through. She went to stoke up the flames, but Draco placed a hand on her arm.

“Allow me.”

She ran a hand through her hair. “You know, I wasn’t teasing you. I was hinting at the fact my hormones are going to be a bit heightened.”

He tossed a log atop the orange glowing embers. “I know that. Hermione, you did just have a cry in the hall.”

“Not that kind of hormone, Draco.”

“Not that kind? You’re a bit mental, aren’t you? The only other hormones are…”

The idea clicked. His neck snapped back. The pulling need of his eyes only confirmed that he understood her fully.

The tension in his throat as he swallowed proved it further. “Oh. Like…” He cleared his throat once, then twice. “ _Those_ hormones.”

Draco and Hermione had yet to experiment beyond the heavy snog. It left much pent up excitement that only eroded patience. The baby did not help things. All Hermione’s hormones made it painful to resist jumping Draco and using him as a scratching post like a cat. What withheld the strength to do so was his intact pride. He was a virgin. Wizards like him were raised to be noble and honest. Sex before marriage was not a welcome activity amongst aristocrats. His parents raised him better.

The last thing she wanted to do was insult him.

However, her courage overtook the respect with the ladder of hormonal want for his body beneath hers.

She was curled amongst a quilt on the sofa. He trekked from the fireplace and was careful to take his place on the other side without sitting too close. He kept himself distracted with smoothing the wrinkles of his clothes rather than looking at her.

The wait was agony. The silence choked her with a strong palm against her windpipe.

The topic of shagging had yet to be mentioned. They wanted it. She knew she did and judging by the bulge in his trousers whilst they snogged, he did, too. However, shagging was different. A snog was easy. They both remained dressed. No harm, no foul. Shagging? It removed their barriers, their sensibilities, their protection, and left them to their own primal devices.

Sex was natural. It was a natural act. Teenagers went through stages where humping anything seemed the right idea. Hermione knew that it was as natural for creatures as it was to breathe.

Gentlemen were taught the exact opposite. Restraint. Draco was raised with a group of men that believed in only one witch for every wizard, and it was done so in the sanctity of marriage.

Despite the situation of their underage, out-of-wedlock pregnancy that the world knew, Hermione was the only one that was not in possession of her virtue. Draco was. He kept it. Through all the layers of witches that dropped to his feet with the hopes he might kick them out of his way, he never found a witch to tempt his fancy.

That was dedication.

Hermione was not that strong. She listened to her body and what it wanted. All it wanted was him.

Draco sat wrinkle-free on the sofa. His breath forced calm, though the throbbing of his pulse within his neck spoke to the restraint. She instantly regretted mentioning it.

“I’m sorry, Draco. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She patted his shoulder. “I understand.”

“I do want to. Don’t get me wrong. I do want to and could.” It reminded him to readjust himself. Hermione pretended not to notice the pitched tent. Her eyes stayed steady in his confidence. “There are things that make it difficult to…”

“Honestly. I understand. You don’t have to explain yourself,” she assured.

“I respect you, Hermione. You deserve my patience and my commitment and everything I can give before I can ask you to do that. For me.”

She frowned. “You don’t have to offer me your landing and holdings just to make love to me. I respect you same as you respect me. If you don’t want to shag before you’re married, I understand that. I won’t press it. But, please, don’t believe that you have to do that just for me. I love you. I want you. That’s all that I ask of you. That’s the kind of honor you should have, not just for marriage. You should only shag someone who wants to, without influence or marriage or promise of endless wealth. Just the pair can make that decision. Not anyone else. And it isn’t something you do to me. It’s something we do together. For both of us.”

The idea that sex was only meant for men to push onto women was sexist and inaccurate. Women liked sex. It was natural for them to want it. It was not some punishment that a man had to reimburse for the trouble. All that mattered was consent. If she wanted it and he did too, that should be enough for their honor.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t do that to you,” he said.

Hermione cupped his cheek with her hand. He leaned into the touch. His eyes shuttered close as the sensations of her gentle touch against his face moved him. Through his lips released the sweetest sigh she inhaled with greed.

Only a true gentleman would insist on waiting to preserve a virtue she didn’t have.

“You’re too cunning to be this honorable,” she chuckled softly.

His eyes stayed closed. “Who’s to say I haven’t been cunning to get this far?”

Her smiles curled to a smile. “Well, you’ve done a royal job if that’s the case. Here I am, thinking you’re the one.”

The flash of grey caught her focus. A subtle jolt to attention spread through his body, now not comfortably sunken within the worn sofa cushion, but at the edge of his seat.

“Say again?”

She thought she saw a ripple of fear pass through him. Finally, the limit to him. Draco was at his end with all the generosity.

Hermione poked her tongue into her cheek. A devilish humor overtook her lips.

“Hermione Malfoy has a nice ring to it, don’t you think, Drake?”

What she expected was for him to hop to his feet and run away as fast as he could, like any other wizard might when marriage was mentioned, but instead he launched himself forward, cupped her face, and kissed her firmly until the very air was moist with salvia.

There was an urgent haste to his fingers. They trembled down the length of her throat and onto the front of her shirt. One hand grasped her breast – for the first time! – and an overwhelming pleasure washed through her. The hormones were built heavy. Any stimulation resulted in a rattling gasp to withhold a moan.

“I want you.” His lips murmured against hers. The mixture of their wetness tasted strong and sweet. His sweetness of pumpkin juice joined the bitter of her tea was a combination of flavors, like their personalities, seemingly different, but matched so well.

To her, ‘I want you’ sounded sexual, however the previous conversation had her unconvinced.

“You have me.”

“No.” His lips ran along the underside of her jaw. The trail was paved in salvia, a feeling she felt even after his lips moved on. “I want you. Now. Right here.”

Becoming clearer…

Hermione’s hands worked independent of her mind. They dove beneath the cover of his shirt onto the warm flesh beneath. So soft and smooth. Heavenly scented with his honey soap it wafted through the opening of his clothes to the air within. Pregnancy gave Hermione the nose of a werewolf. It only allured her further. His smell, his heat.

“But what about your honor?”

He raised up from her neck. “To hell with what I said. I don’t even remember it.”

Internally, she groaned. She didn’t want to, but she knew she had to ask. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve already gotten you pregnant,” he said in a gruff voice, “might as well get to shag you.”

It was the last bit of resistance she had. Her limbs filled with the excitement too powerful to deny. He was beautiful. And hers. She wanted to enjoy all of him.

Their lips tangled together in a dance. Hands moved at lightning speed to grasp all the places they denied themselves before. Draco pushed until her spine rested against the side wall of the sofa. His erection rubbed against her body, only slightly awkward from the size of her belly.

The slimness of the sofa made every position odd. Either he was too high, or she was pushed off the edge.

“The bed?” He asked. His eyes casted a lazy glance upward. The fog of lust made him beauty more addicting. She relished the height of his desire so obvious in his face. It made parts of her soak through.

A perfectly good double bed was there, empty and in need of use.

They moved to the bed, forgetting their shoes at the edge, as well as their outwear. Draco was down to his white-collar shirt and his black suit trousers while Hermione was in a faded olive T-shirt and matching fuzzy pajama trousers.

The change in setting slowed their pace. Hesitation reclaimed the land between them, as if both reevaluated the choice to shag.

All Draco had to do was reach out to her, and she was putty once more.

He pushed her to her back. A pillow of her frantic, frizzy curls beneath her face. Then his weight. It pressed her deeper into the mattress, justly joining parts of their bodies together in a familiar embrace. A firmness at her inner thigh excited her.

Her fingers flew to his buttons that lined his torso. One by one, they exposed his bare flesh.

The fire in her actions encouraged his to emerge with greater strength. His thumbs linked at the waistband of her bottoms and pulled them clean off her thighs in one motion. The cold of the air, the heat of his body against her, swirled a deep delight throughout the flesh, creeping and crawling upward to a spot beneath her knickers.

The freeing of her knickers perfumed the air with her smell. It greeted her nose like an embarrassing old friend, like ‘hello, remember me? You know who I am, don’t pretend.’ A thought of self-consciousness erupted through her thoughts like a freight train.

Before she could close her legs to hide the smell, Draco was already lost in its dazzle. He touched the wet flesh at her core, rubbed the swollen tip of her clit, and send a shiver through her legs.

He liked it. He did it again. This time rewarded with a whimpering moan.

The tent in his trousers raised higher. A fact that she could not ignore. How much higher could it go?

“Do you want me to -.”

“Yes.” She nodded quickly.

Draco lowered the edge of his trousers. The agony of his pace tested all her patience.

He leaned forward. His lips took hers in his depth, the rising of his bare legs on hers fighting for her attention, then a shift of his body on top of hers. Each arm on side of her head.

The firm head of his cock touched at her open pussy. It swirled the liquid desire around as Draco tried to find the proper angle. It was not all bad as more than once he grazed her hot spot and brought forth a blinding reminder as to why she partook.

Her fingers grasped onto his shoulders as the pressure built. It eased through her folds so gently, yet in a startling difference. The swell of his cock through her had her blink more than once with wide eyes.

“Does it hurt?” He asked. One hand swiped away the fallen curls out of her eyes. “I’ll stop.”

“N-n-no. It doesn’t hurt. You’re just…”

“Just what?”

She blushed. “You’re big. I didn’t know, um, it could feel this way.” Her eyes rolled as his cock slid against a piece of flesh inside her that shot tingles to her toes.

His lips smirked. “All things Malfoy are impressive.”

He tilted his hips farther inside. The hilt of his cock just stopped him from reaching the back of her throat. Thankfully. Because any bit farther, and it might have actually hurt.

“Bravo.” She moaned as it slipped out and back inward again.

The pumping inside her continued. Each with an exaggerated pull out and push back inside. Breath caught in her lips each time he entered. The grith filled her entrance to the fullest without pain. It contracted against this thickness as the pleasures bubbled against her flesh, her midline, the back of her knees, a tightness in her throat. All of it was him.

Her hands dropped away from his shoulders, totally overwhelmed. He took them inside his. Their fingers laced together as their breaths became one, his pace quickening with the ease at the slippery welcome she gave him. She kissed him. The energy flowed through his tissues. She felt the raw power that he delivered with each hard pump into her.

The taut naked expanse of his body over her was nothing like it was with Ron. Draco moved when she did. The slight shimmy of her arse as he reached the end of his length caused him to lessen his depth inside. She felt a building tension throughout her that made her breath quicken, her hips lift to meet his thrusts, and Draco responded with the same motion until she went limp below him with a shivering cry.

Satisfaction bloomed before her. His eyes remained locked with hers as the shaking of her post throes of passion subsided. The burn of their loins only matched the power of the emotion they bared for the other to see.

“I love you, Hermione.” He grunted with another sharp jab within her.

Her lips moaned out a release. “Not as much as I love you, Drake.”

The pace of his body turned panicked. Their bodies slapped together with a sound that might have mortified her if someone had heard. But no one did. It was just them two. The bodies joined together as the way nature intended, lost in each other’s eyes and raw dripping emotion, the ecstasy they felt was the second most important feeling.

At one point, she cried out ‘oh my god’ and his body went rigid with a tightness throughout his muscles. A familiar hotness spread within her pussy, even as he withdrew from her body.

They cleaned up all evidence of their intercourse. It was against strict Hogwarts guidelines to shag on school grounds. Not that they weren’t believed to have broken the rule once already. It was true that the rule was lectured more so on their account. Hermione believed the entire sexually active population might hate the pair of them for all the added reminders that sex was a mature decision not to be done on a campus meant for education.

The night had worn her energy thin. She was exhausted. Beneath her comforter, she found comfort in Draco’s arms.

It was late. Way later than he should be out. Still, she refused to remind him to leave. The way he felt alongside her was more important.

“Do you think this is what it’ll be like? When the baby is born, I mean.”

Her eyes were heavy. She rested against him with the edge of sleep only millimeters out of reach.

His touch rested against her belly, as if his hand might protect her from ill will in the night. “I like to think it will. Except we’ll be more tired.”

Their daughter swirled inside her belly like she would a washing machine. Her excited kicks and jabs were the result of their exercise. Draco chuckled as the little thing fought off his firmness in her bubble. He retracted to only a light touch.

“Too tired to shag.” She chuckled. It was difficult to imagine a time where she would miss an opportunity with Draco to do that. The sex was far more stimulating than it was with the quick draw Ronald Weasley, who’s greatest effort to please her was to rub her nipples like he was starting a fire. “Draco, where will we stay? My parents house is nice but small. Your parent’s house is large and accommodating but so far away.”

He nuzzled his face into the mass that was once her hair. Now it was a nest of some prehistoric creature. Godric, she dreaded having to comb that flat.

“We might switch places so that neither one feels abandoned for too long.” His eyes were closed, but a smile was on his lips. “You forget our parents will be more concerned with it than we will be.”

“Will we share a room?”

“I’d like to.”

“Will we share a bed?”

He snorted. “If we’re in the same room, we’re sharing a bed.”

She liked that idea.

“What about our daughter? Where will she fit in?”

Like a ghost on its own accord, a hand rose up and gestured to the space – how minimal it was – between them. “Right about here somewhere I imagine. Or rather, I should say.” The hand fell to her breast. “Right here.”

Right. Professor Burbage told them that babies tend to feel at home on their mother’s chest or breast as it was meant to be a comforting place for a newborn. Their source of food being the breast, it tended to be a favorite.

“I’ve been trying to think of what she might look like,” she said.

“Like her mother, of course.”

“And what if she’s not?”

He sighed in frustration. “Then her father, I suppose.”

Her father.

“Draco.” Hermione jolted.

The sudden movement aroused his awareness. His eyes snapped open.

“What?”

“Merlin! How could we have been so blind?”

Red hair. Red hair. Red hair! All the Weasleys were infected with that vibrant, unmistakable red hair. For all her own darker, dominant features, if a witch of black hair produced a red-haired child with Arthur Weasley, what change was there that her daughter would resemble herself?

“Weasley,” he mumbled hollowly.

Molly Weasley was a force to be reckoned with. Ron was her favorite son, the last one she was given. Ronald, the baby boy. Ronald Billius Weasley. If either of them learned of a red-haired baby born of Hermione’s womb, they’d ensure that it was taken from her. Her muggle heritage would work against her seeing as the Weasley’s would be able to ensure a fully protected magical childhood.

That Weasley matron would take away Draco and Hermione’s daughter without a thought. Without regret. The witch thought her children were her own property as to be used and controlled to her fit. Ron was clearly in his mother’s image as he allowed her to do so, often enabling her intrusive behavior rather than setting up boundaries.

Hermione was banned from having any unapproved muggle clothing at the Burrow. The ‘temptation’ of the lower necklines and tight trousers would distract the Weasley boys, as she was told. Hand holding was forbidden. Hugging, even if it was done in friendship earned a harsh glare of the witch that resulted in the demanding that Ronald and Harry change their shirts so that she might wash ‘the stink’ off.

That woman was a monster. She could not have her baby.

In her thoughts, she hadn’t noticed her protective hold on her swollen stomach.

“No one will take her away,” Draco assured her. His voice was firm enough to offer comfort.

She fell onto his shoulder, pressing her cheek against his body. “We’ve got to think of something. They can’t think she’s theirs. If they do, they’ll make sure we never see her again.”

“Not without a fight, they wouldn’t get her without a fight.” His lips pressed against her forehead. “I’d do everything in my power to make sure that never happens. Do you hear me? Weasel would be slaughtered before he laid a hand on our baby.”

She gave a smile. Not that she was moved by the violence at the statement, but the fact he thought to offer his safety to act on his emotions. It was sweet.

Her fingers caressed his cheek. “That won’t be necessary. I’ve got a better idea.”

“Better than cursing that wanker? I seriously doubt it.”

“Not better for you.” She quirked a brow. “But it would reduce the risk of you being imprisoned for murder.”

“Let’s hear this mystical plot better than murder.”

She snickered. “It shall require a fair amount of research.”

“Ooh.” He purred in her ear with heat. “Tell me more.”

“A charm. It will be simple. The only thing that distinguishes a Weasley from any other is the red hair. All we must do is prepare a spell to cast the moment she is born. It will permanently alter her hair color. We can make the spell to regenerate and constantly keep her hair the same hue for life.”

Draco pressed his lips tightly against her forehead again, wrapped his arm around her and held her close. “Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of the age.”

Breath exhaled from his nose in long bursts. His fear burned through the small nostrils until it was all lost to the air.

It was in that nature that he was like his namesake: a dragon. Fearsome and armored, nostril breathing, loves a horde.

Their daughter was luckier than all the greatest brewed Felix Felicis. Draco Malfoy was a better gentleman than the biological donor could ever be. Not only did he display maturity beyond their years, he made their time together genuine. There was not a moment she believed him faking through. He was there. For her.

That was a gift that deserved reciprocation.

“I’ve thought of a name,” Hermione whispered. “I want her to be named after her father.”

There was caution as Draco nodded.

“Dracona.”

He suddenly laughed. “Dracona? No bloody way are we naming our daughter that.”

That was not what she expected. Laughing? It was so funny to him. Funny. Their daughter’s name.

“It’s the female version of your name.” She grumbled.

“I know that. I still don’t like it.” He continued his fit of chuckling. It riled her frustration. She thought it was a nice fit, a brilliant gesture toward the wizard who saved them both from a life of Weasley unhappiness. “How self-absorbed would I have to be to have a child named after me? A daughter no less. No. I was thinking of a different direction.”

Hermione knotted her arms against her chest. “How so?”

“My mother’s family takes naming to new heights. It is how I got my own name.”

“The stars,” she breathed. “Like Sirius and Regulus.”

For all their blessed communication, not much was said about times before Draco. Harry and Ron were never mentioned unless in disappointment. There was no reminiscing about the World Cup and the TriWizard Tournament or any year before.

Sirius and Regulus Black were two wizards she knew well. Sirius was Harry’s godfather. Regulus was the younger, less wild brother of the Blacks, though that was only minimal, as their personalities were as large as their family riches. He was the one whom took to Hermione. Sirius loved the boys. They went flying and played chess while Regulus preferred witty conversation, intellectual debate, window shopping and tea sipping.

“Right. I forgot you’re acquainted.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Regulus used to say that any one with a name from the celestial was a Black. Every single one he met, he said.”

“My idea is not one that has been used before,” Draco said. “It is unique. Perhaps, a little too out there.”

“Wouldn’t be a Malfoy if it wasn’t.”

He mulled over the name in silence. His courage to reveal it faltered under the direct line of questioning. A pair of pursed, twisted lips registered his doubt.

The disheveled appearance of Draco Malfoy in her bed captured her attention as he searched for his confidence. Blonde hairs tousled, playfully rough against his head. They stuck everywhere. It was just long enough for her to run her fingers through. And the nude body apart from the form fitting underpants did not help. 

She fell in love with the uptight wizard as a messy form in her bed. The thrill of holding his hand as a buttoned-up respectable wizard then turned unkempt would make it easy to endure those proper parties of his parents.

Was it a kink to want to make a pristine wizard dirty? If it was, it was hers.

The grey light of his eyes twinkled when he found hers. “Caprica. I thought we might name her Caprica.”

“Caprica,” she repeated slowly.

“It is short for Capricorn. Like the Zodiac sign and the all the constellations therein.”

_Ambitious, sensitive, realistic, disciplined_. That was a fair mix of Draco and Hermione. Ambition was one of the primary Slytherin traits. A fair criticism of her would say that she is realistic and disciplined. Of course, disciplined applied well to him, too.

The numbers did not add up, however.

December to January was the time in which Capricorns were born. Their baby was due long past the time of the Capricorn.

“What do you think?” He asked.

The look in his eye was drenched with hope. Whatever he went through to find the name, it resonated with him. He was set on it.

“It is beautiful,” she agreed, “not to mention unique.”

“Do you like it?”

Caprica Malfoy flowed well. It sounded fitting of the aristocracy.

She gently placed her lips against his bare shoulder. “I love that you love it.” She smiled. “Let’s name her Caprica. Caprica Skye Malfoy.”

“Skye?” His forehead wrinkled. Lips crinkled in question. “That’s perfect. Caprica Skye.”

Their hearts fell in love with the name the more they thought of it. Days after, they were calling her Caprica within Hermione’s belly, rubbing her for good luck, and dropping everything to feel her kick. She was lively within the womb. Her kicks were constant.

Eventually the name was found out by everybody. Pansy was to thank for that. She would greet the baby belly as another person, always. Crowded corridor, or classroom, she made a point to say hello.

It was then the rest of the castle learned of the baby’s name. Susan Bones crocheted a hat complete with the Capricorn star constellation atop the head. The name ‘Caprica Skye’ was embroidered through. It was complete with a matching pair of baby booties.

“I agreed to be in the creche elective,” Susan told her with a kind smile. “Professor Sprout told me early. She knew I loved little nippers and wanted to make sure I knew.”

Susan Bones was a good fit to care for a child. She was soft spoken and moved slow and easy. Rocking an infant to sleep would be easy work for the witch.

“That’s wonderful, Susan. I’m glad to hear it.”

“Do you have a pram yet? They love the fresh air. Helps them sleep, it does.”

A pram? Were they supposed to be that prepared already?

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

The emergence of the morning post caught their attention. Susan expected a package, so she had to toddle off to her table. She wished Hermione luck and repeated how excited she was.

A rain of letters, newspaper, magazines, and packages from home fell to the tables. Owls called down to their owners in a gentle reminder of love. School issued owls dropped to the tables to demand their payment: a bite of breakfast.

There was joy to have letters delivered from loved ones outside the castle walls. Winter holiday was long forgotten to their studies, and the thought of abandonment crossed all their minds in the still of night or the pause of concentration. The written statement no matter how small eased the woes of long-distance love.

Draco was absent from the morning meal. It was not mentioned by his Slytherin friends. The blaring openness in the conversation left her mind stalling on the open seat at her side.

She meant to ask, but it felt invasive. Slytherins were so private. If Draco was ill, he would not want her to be concerned or risk an illness herself.

Hermione expected her owl to deliver the written letter from her parents, each composing their own portion to convey their own thoughts and well wishes. Her eyes stayed at the plate with her full breakfast. She wished for more tomatoes than beans, as the gas wreaked havoc on her insides. It was the not-so-chummy symptom of pregnancy. Having to sneak away to break wind was not the highlight of her hour.

Instead of a few letters, there were a few letters and a large parcel dropped in front of her. She gasped, spilling her tomatoes atop her toast.

“Brilliant,” she grumbled as she wiped the splatters from her tie.

“Oi. Look at that. A package from Malfoy Manor,” Crabbe pointed out. The emerald green wax seal with the Malfoy family emblem of a dragon under his finger only proved him right. “Bet it’s a care package from Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Care package?” Hermione wrinkled her nose as she observed the label.

It was from Narcissa Malfoy, as the label read. Her script was pristine. It resembled Draco’s own handwriting. Smooth, perfect, beautiful.

“We are so focused during exam time that we don’t eat as much as we should. Narcissa sent care packages so that we kept up our energy,” Pansy explained. “Mine had Parisian chocolates. My favorite.”

“Mine had home baked biscuits and scones,” Goyle stated.

“A collection of smoked meats and pork crackling.” Crabbe dabbed the cloth napkin at his greasy, sausage lips. “What do you wager she sent you?”

They were not that well acquainted. Hermione had a variety of favorite snacks, but none that the Malfoy’s recognized. Most were muggle snack cakes or crisps.

Her hands ran along the creamy ribbons. “I’m not sure.”

Pansy clicked her tongue. “Narcissa has a trained eye. She’s bound to have done her research. Not much is done without thought by her.”

“Perhaps I should wait for Draco.”

“Why?” Goyle barked. “It isn’t his. It’s for you.”

She swallowed. “Quite right.”

Narcissa and Hermione shared letters. They were a polite attempt to get to know each other through the only means offered. She still mentioned the fact that Draco hid his relationship from her, a fact that clearly troubled the witch.

She was her son’s biggest fan. Draco was the apple of her eye. It was wrong for him to deny his own mother an intimate look at his life. It wounded Narcissa deeply.

Her fingers slipped the ribbon off the box. The length was larger than first glance.

“Ah, ah, ah.” A thick, white card dangled in front of her face. “It’s rude not to read the card first.”

Pansy smirked as the witch was forced to retract from the box in favor of the card. Hermione opened the white card to black calligraphy drafted overtop a pale golden watermark of a dragon. It was astounding detail for an insignificant thing like a card.

_Dearest Hermione,_

_Our hearts fill with joy as the time of year nears,_

_For all our patient waiting we found a purpose._

_Many preparations, hopes, and fears,_

_Baby Malfoy will enjoy each purchase._

_All our love,_

_Narcissa and Lucius_

“Curious,” Hermione flicked the card between her fingers. “ _Each purchase_ sounds like more than one. But there is only one here.”

Crabbe and Goyle instinctively looked up. Most owls were gone. Only a few stragglers fluttered overhead.

“Narcissa is too well written to have made a mistake,” Pansy commented.

“Go on, then. Open it.” The package was pushed closer. “Sitting on pins and needles, we are.”

The lid removed, a bounty of aubergine, grey, periwinkle, and ivory clothes overflowed its rim with an array of bows and ribbons, tulle skirts, and grow suits. Linen blankets were rolled along an edge. Numerous dummies of their shamrock green plastic were the only shade that was not gentle and feminine.

Her fingers caressed the spread with wide eyes. The tiny trousers, she could not stop looking at the little legs were her baby might fit.

“I see Narcissa decided upon a hue for little Caprica,” Pansy said. Her eyes flashed an approval. Hermione, too, had to agree.

The clothes were fine and intricate. Colors, beautiful. These were not garb found in any department store in London. Some had to be specially crafted. They were too lovely to be for common purchase.

The wizard’s interest in the gift faltered seeing as they were infant clothes and not expensive treats. The girls, however, were on high alert. Daphne, Millicent, and Daphne all stood to peer through the opening to get a closer look. Their hands ran over the small grow suits fitted with the same pair of disbelieving eyes as Hermione held.

“Can you believe she will be so tiny?” Daphne murmured.

“Oh, Merlin. Makes me want a sprog so bad.”

There was an answering laugh. “You can’t even decide what you’d like to do on holiday, Mill. You think a baby won’t come with decisions to be made?”

Pansy held out a patterned jumper of silky-smooth material. “Look, Hermione. Narcissa made matching jim-jams. Aren’t these darling?”

They were. The words were unfounded to describe how much she loved them all.

Her lips curled to a smile. The emotion back behind her eyes, threatening to ruin the happy calm with an outburst of pouring gratitude, when her eyes caught a pair at another table, then another, and another. The entire Great Hall seemed to have stop to watch the unboxing of her gift. Heat flooded through her cheeks. Curls fell to hide her stage fright.

Just as she scanned through the rest of the room, her eyes caught with a pair of emerald greens that greeted her with a kindness rather than profound interest. Harry was at the Gryffindor table. All their old friends were gathered around. A few stared. Harry did not. He’d taken to a soft smile of recognition.

Her lips sputtered. “I-I better take these back to my chambers.”

“We’ll carry the box for you,” Crabbe said. His hand gestured to the towering, thickly built wizard with arms the size of her thighs at his side. Goyle was more than capable of carrying the box on his back. Packages given to owls were given special charms to lighten the load. Once they were delivered, the charm broke.

It was the only explanation as to the red face Goyle made when he collected the package in his arms.

Although there was no room to assist, Crabbe still walked with them to her private suite. Their silence too comfortable in Draco’s absence. Without him, they were a pair of bumbling ogres tripping over their feet and wandering aimlessly.

“Are you certain you’re alright?” Her fingers tapped nervously against her wrist.

His face was contorted with exertion. “Yeah. I got it.”

“We can help,” she clarified, “if you need us.”

“It’s just up here. I can hold it for that long,” Goyle said. The wince on his face as he stepped higher on the staircase did not ease her worry.

Of course, true to his word, he handled it all the way to her door. She popped open it and let him enter first so that he might rush in and toss it down as soon as possible.

“Just set it anywhe - .”

Her voice stopped. The suite was not the same as it had been when she left that morning.

The walls were no longer deep purple. A pastel blue wallpaper coated the walls, split only by the ivory linen bed canopy that draped down the sides of the wall around the frame and lush ivory drapes. The fireplace? It was stark white. Not a shred of soot or ash within. Hogwarts standard candle chandelier was replaced with a vintage crystal one like one found in the Queen’s castle.

Her bedding was changed to a pale blue and an ivory comforter. Every piece of furniture was lined in a white wood, not the mismatched collection it had been before.

A Moses basket with a similar canopy rested in the corner near the windows. The matching rocking chair coated in fluffy white cushions and a little stuffed lamb sat alongside. An easy pull string sat within reach from the seat to draw the flowy drapery closed.

“Just in time!” Draco suddenly emerged from the office doorway. “I just finished.”

“Finished what?” She asked.

Goyle placed the box on the floor with a long groan. “You didn’t say it would weigh ten stone.”

“That was Mother’s idea. Not mine,” he answered.

She was able to collect her jaw to form a semblance of a coherent statement. “You planned this?”

He nodded, too pleased with himself. His typical black suit absconded from his body. Casual jean trousers and a white shirt hugged his lengthy frame. It was the first time she’d seen him dressed down. Her jaw dislodged once more.

Messy Draco was definitely her kink.

“I wanted it done before Caprica was born. It was ghastly. Made me want to leap from the window there if I stayed too long,” he said.

It was dramatic. It had not been that bad.

“Not everyone is accustomed to royal luxury. It was adequate before.”

“Are you saying you don’t like it?” His brow quirked high.

He knew the answer.

It pained her to admit it. “No. I do like it. Quite a lot, if you must know.”

“Then it was worth it,” he said with a triumphant smile. “You had no idea how many design spells I had to learn from Mother just to do this. I’ll know nothing else for at least a fortnight.”

She shook her head and hid a wry smile. His charm worked so efficiently that she wondered how she’d not noticed it sooner. The kissable way he moved his eyes, squinting to relish every expression of surprise as she looked around the room. It drove her heart into overdrive.

Draco placed a gentle kiss at her cheek. The slippery slide of his hand from her shoulder, down her arm, into her hand and laced their fingers together in an unbreakable hold.

“Allow me to show you where our daughter will spend her first year at Hogwarts.”


	6. Part VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought this fic would get the love it has gotten! I'm so grateful for it. Life has been crazy lately (I've got three boys to keep track of) so my time to write has shortened. I'm going to start making more time for it. I know these stories provide a kind of comfort for many readers, so I don't want to have people invest their time into my stories if I don't follow through. Please just give me some patience. I'll be sure to keep this going.
> 
> *Also, thanks for all the thoughts and feedback about plot points and characters and etc. I love your ideas! They're all really brilliant. If any of you have a fic that you'd really like written or to see more of in this community, leave a comment or message me. I'm open to new expansion of my writing.

# Part VI

“Will you pl-EASE,” his voice took on a high pitch, “put the book down.”

Draco Malfoy paced at the edge of the bed. His footsteps wore a tired path on the same floorboards as they had for an entire hour previous. The melody of creaking, a song that was overplayed to the ear.

A book lowered from a tired face.

“I’ve got to study. Exams are only a week away,” Hermione Granger said. Her eyes dipped down to Draco’s pacing legs. He was wasting time. “Honestly, you should study as well.”

He stopped. The look on his face of pure bafflement.

“I’m a little busy at the moment.” He scoffed. “As are you. You are in labor!”

“Labor takes -.” Her voice cut off at the emergence of a sharp wave building in her body. She felt muscle after muscle tense to the point of breaking, indescribable pain rampaged through the tender, stretched tissues. Her jaw clenched taut. Deep breaths steamed from her nostrils as she tried to remember to breathe through the pain. Breathe through it? What kind of dolt thought of that?! It didn’t help. Not one bit. It still hurt!

The slender blonde froze in place. A frightening glimmer crossed his eyes as he watched her endure the pain. His hand reached out and touched the only place he could. Her foot. It put pressure, awareness, to the one part that didn’t hurt.

Her eyes aligned with his. The comfort from his presence helped even out her breaths.

A door opened behind them. Neither bothered to look. They were trapped together until the wave passed.

“Was that another one?’ Narcissa questioned as she placed a basin of steaming water on the bedside table. Two flannels were dipped inside it and placed on the underside of Hermione’s belly. It was nice to have a bit of heat that wasn’t boiling up from her loins.

Draco nodded. His face fallen hollow and pale. _Paler_ at least.

“Yes,” he breathed. The tension in his neck showed a visible swallow through his throat. “Are they supposed to be that strong?”

Through the recovery of her strong contraction, her gasping breath was able to squeak out, “I’m fine, Draco. They’re supposed to be that and stronger.”

“Stronger?”

“Don’t you remember a thing Professor Burbage taught us?”

“A life is entering the world,” Narcissa hummed. “It takes a little pain to be given a beauty.”

His mother’s kind eyes regarded the witch with a soft smile. They both knew that anxiety it gave Draco to see her in pain. It plagued everyone. But the process was worth the reward. Soon their baby would be born to the world, and all woes forgotten. It would only be hell for a little while.

“Darling,” her soft voice sang. The pacing had driven her to the most polite edge she had. It was nice to know that Narcissa knew what it meant to be annoyed. A strange thing, yes. But it comforted Hermione. “Rest. Please. You’re going to need it. She might go well into the wee hours of the morning.”

“I cannot leave her like this,” Draco breathed.

‘Like this’ was an overstatement. She’d returned to studying her book. Her eyes scanned over the pages, fingers flipped the edges, not a second lost.

It was the middle of May. Exams were so close. It was the worst possible time to deliver a child. There would be little sleep those two weeks remaining, between a newborn and the all-important exams.

The possibility that Draco and Hermione would ever see one another was slim, too. He had his own studies, classes, exams to take. Plus, he was required to sleep in the Slytherin dormitory. That left no time for Hermione or their newborn.

It would be a challenge, she knew, to be alone. A new mum with no experience and no sleep and all the stress of the world was bound to be a tough spot. Luckily, she knew that she had the strength to withstand it.

“She’s going to be like this for a while,” Narcissa explained. “A brief nap will not warrant much change.”

“You’re going to tell me to rest to keep my strength when the witch actually birthing the child is buried nose deep in a book that she’s been frantically reading for two weeks already.”

Narcissa glanced down at the witch with a knowing face. “For all his stubbornness, he is right, my dear. You need rest.”

Was it an inappropriate request? Of course not.

In fact, it made perfect sense. Labor required all her energy to push a baby from her lady bits. She needed all she could get. However, the fact that exams were so close made her willingness to stop studying rather small. Exams were the single most important thing in her education. If she did not pass, she had no hopes of continuing within the wizarding world. She’d have to have her memories erased, her life stolen away, all the confidence that came from the harnessing of her magical powers, would be ripped from her mind.

Hermione did not know what would happen if she was Obliviated. She was certain that it would create a person she loathed to be.

She glanced down at the inflated, overly large stomach. That little being inside might be taken from her. If she failed to become a proper witch, her daughter, Caprica Skye, would be given to the Malfoy’s. All knowledge of her own child, gone.

Even Draco. That made her even more heartbroken. His pale eyes and precious kiss. She did not want to live without knowing those.

“Honestly, I’m fine. Brilliant, even. I took a nap earlier. I’m right as rain.”

“You forget that I also took a nap,” Draco pointed out. “Remember? You woke me up so if anything, I’m more rested than you.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed. The peering presence of Narcissa Malfoy made them burn hotter. Especially after the surprised arch in her brow.

They were not permitted to sleep together. In Malfoy Manor or Hogwarts. It was a rule. A rule that Draco apparently forgot.

Luckily Narcissa was too well-bred to mention it.

“Please rest. The _pair_ of you.” Her pale eyes glanced at the witch laid up in bed. “You’ll need your strength for what is to come.”

It was delivered in that tone that invoked reaction, even if it was not from one’s own parent, a child knew it as an order. The spark at the back of Hermione’s throat was choked by the respect of one’s elders and she lowered the book in defeat, knowing full well that the witch was right. The worst was yet to come. Exhaustion upon pain mixed with fear and thrill.

“Fine.” She sighed.

Draco nodded. “Agreed.”

Narcissa trailed toward the door, angling her body as if she expected a companion as she walked out, and when she turned to look at her own son, the absence stumbled her pace. She turned on heel to watch his body slide into a sofa too short for his length.

Her expression remained unbroken; the beauty not lost to the ugliness of confusion. “Darling?”

“The sofa suits,” he answered with a low grumbling growl. His shortness evident of his frustration. “Wouldn’t want to miss the birth of my child wrapped in a blanket down the hall, would I?”

Although her trained poise did not break, a small shift happened with Narcissa’s eyes. A heart breaking.

It happened often when Draco chose Hermione, in his blunt, rather rude way.

Narcissa was still wounded by the hiding of the relationship. Many times Hermione wished to explain their divide away. Only, it would cause more problems than solve.

Hermione had been more than willing to risk it. Draco was not. He forbid it.

Had Ronald ever forbid her from doing something, Hermione would have done it out of spite. Draco was different. She respected his reasons, as she knew they were well formed in his mind and granted his choices the respect of her acceptance.

He didn’t forbid speaking of it, though. To his loss.

“You should be gentler to her,” Hermione said.

His face was smashed against the arm of the sofa in an awkward position. “Hermione.” He groaned. “Please let it be.”

“She’s been so supportive of you. Of this. You couldn’t ask for a better mum.”

“Oh, yes I could.” He pulled a too short throw blanket over his shoulders. He fussed with it as long as he could. His frustration mounted when he was forced to curl into a ball to cover himself under the piece of fleece.

The mood was from the start of her labor pains, only growing with the pain within her womb. His nerves were exposed. Their raw vulnerability made Draco an angered dragon. It was not smoke that blew from his mouth, but fire. Pure red-hot flame.

He’d almost lost in on Madame Pomphrey who forced them to wait for permission to apparate to Malfoy Manor. If Hermione hadn’t held onto his arm, she was certain he’d have drawn his wand.

The scowl on his face deepened when he yet again was left with an exposed body part. She sighed and flipped open her own blankets of her overly large bed.

“Come here, Drake.”

His grey eyes could have pierced her flesh. “Don’t call me that right now. I can’t - .” He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“It is only the first sign of hesitation. It’s about time.”

She’d intended it as humor to diffuse the air, not add to it.

“It isn’t hesitation,” he exclaimed as he whipped the blanket from his body.

There was a sorry expression on his face as he traipsed his way over to the bed. His face yet again bathed in candlelight. The drained color of his face brought a stall in her comfort. He was not himself.

Her hand touched his. She pulled him close to her body. His hand was placed against her belly, just as he liked, to calm him. The kicking pushing jabbing motions of the baby made him smile. He constantly grasped at the belly in hopes of urging a fight from the little thing inside her.

“I’m not running away, if that’s what you’re thinking.” His voice was soft against her hair. His hand gained a life of its own. It ran down the length of her enormous belly.

“I know. You’re nervous. We both are.”

He snorted. “Really? I wouldn’t consider studying a nervous behavior.”

“Of course I’m nervous. I’m having a baby,” she murmured. The climbing numbness of her fright started through her limbs.

“ _We’re_ having a baby,” he corrected.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t see a body emerging through your vagina.”

He erupted with a bit of shocked chuckles. “Fair enough, love.” His pursed lips pressed against her forehead.

Draco laid within the bed at her side, held her as she breathed through strengthening contractions, and not once left her alone. Her mother arrived late that night. By then, the contractions were in a close pattern. Her body was worn out through withstanding the waves of pain. Draco sat behind her. Each leg pressed against hers. His arms laced around her chest and held her tight against him as each wave brought a sharp cry from her lips.

The fire was stoked high and the candles burned bright when the time came. Healer Rosier was called. He arrived by Floo soon after, bright eyed and rather chipper for the early morning hour.

Too chipper. The thought to slap the smile off his face occurred. Yet, once the contraction dropped away, she was no longer angry.

He had Hermione scoot to the edge of the bed. Her legs were spread wide, shielded with a white cloth draped across her knees. It was a tense moment. Draco had not been present for those examinations by the Healer before. He’d thought it was not decent.

Now that he had front row seating, his body shifted rather closely around her. She tried to comfort him with a friendly squeeze of her hand, but his hand hold was much stronger.

A hand up the birth canal was not the time to be so rigid in chivalry. Whatever got the baby out of her body without injury was proper way as far as she was concerned.

“She’s coming quick, isn’t she?” The healer announced from below the cloth. “Thought you’d have another day in you.”

“A day?” Draco repeated with fear. “It can go on days like this?”

Stacey Granger chuckled. “I was in labor for three days.”

“Save me from more.” Hermione groaned.

All the discomfort in her body, she thought there might be a peak. A point where no more was possible. However, the shoving of cold fingers into the burning hot place still managed to feel uncomfortable.

“That is the good news, Miss Granger. You won’t be much longer now at all. She is coming quick.”

She sighed a long breath. “Thank Merlin.”

The wizard rose from behind the veil. He explained that as soon as the urge to push came to her that she let them know immediately. The healer and Stacey left to find Narcissa and announce the news. It left only Draco and Hermione within the suite.

Their breaths were loud and exaggerated. Each of their chests vibrated back and forth, a running pace of how nervous they were. The veins in her arm practically bulged under the pressure. Draco’s teeth were being ground down to a fine powder from all the clenching.

The silence cut worst. It drove them both mad.

It only lasted a few short contractions more before a strong pressure gathered at her bum and her body demanded she push whatever it was, out.

“Uh, Draco.” Her hand excitedly slapped his arm for attention. “I think you better find the healer.”

“Yeah?” He answered, far too casually.

“Now!” She cried.

He hopped out of bed like the ghost of Salazar Slytherin was behind him. The black shadows of the room swallowed his black body, only the bright light color of hair a noticeable contract through the darkness.

A faint creak of door hinges echoed their way through.

“It’s time,” Draco called.

Hermione was within the strongest contraction yet when he returned. Her lips parted and swayed with the fury of her breath as she tried to withstand the storm of labor. It was harder than she imagined. She knew it would be difficult, but not a whole-body experience. Her back was tight. Muscles in her fingers cramped from holding onto the bed. That didn’t even touch the cramps in her abdomen strong enough to throw her from the sheets if she didn’t hold on. 

“They’re coming,” Draco cooed in a soft voice. Some strength filtered through his tone. It was more comforting than the sharp edge of his concern. She nodded with a deep exhale. “Keep breathing. You’re doing so wonderful. Look at that. She’s that much closer to being here. Caprica. You had to know she’d like to make it a grand appearance.”

It was a welcome reprieve to fear: a glimmer of humor of the child they’d hold.

“Must take after her father then,” she replied. Her hand gripped his wrist with all her might. It helped relieve, if ever so slight, to transfer it to him. “He’s got a need to be the belle of the ball.”

His blonde brow quirked. “Coming from Miss Three-Day-Labor.”

The contraction finally stopped. Hermione threw herself back against the pillows. Sweat pooled in her clothes. She felt it dribbled down her spine and form on her brow.

Godric, she wished the smell might abstain until she could shower.

Healer Rosier strode through. The soft folds of his face were lifted with a smile.

“Time to evict that baby,” he joked.

Stacey assumed the other side of Hermione. Her arm slipped below Hermione’s back and lifted her straight.

“Good girl. That’s it. It’s time to do this,” she murmured. “Come now. Give us a bit of your strength. I know you’ve got much to spare.”

It illicited a groan from her daughter. “Mum, please. I’m on full display with my legs spread. I’d rather not feel more mortified.”

Her mother smiled. “Right then. On the doctor’s count, you’re going to push with all your might.”

Pushing.

Pushing out the baby.

Oh, Merlin. It all came so fast. The idea of a wiggling newborn entered her mind. She was becoming a mum. Nothing would ever be the same.

Her heart started to race. A cloud laid claim to her eyes, stealing all her focus as the fears toppled over her carefully constructed walls. Bits of her strength caved. The pain in her body was only the beginning. An entire life of a screaming, needy thing awaited.

There would be no more late nights with friends. Hot tea in Hogsmeade. Long, hot, bubble baths. Smooth hair. It’d all be gone!

Just like a beacon through the stormy seas, a presence calmed the waves of distress with the slightest touch. It held onto her arm. Their caress was a memory engrained within her instinct, an involuntary response, without thought or realization.

Her eyes found his through the flickering light of candles.

“You can do this.” On his lips was a smile. The scent of pumpkin juice was still on his breath. “Remember what you’re doing. You’re bringing us Caprica.”

“Caprica Skye,” she echoed softly.

He nodded. A hand laced through her curls. It brought her face close to his.

“That’s right. Caprica Skye Malfoy. Our daughter.”

“Miss Granger?” Healer Rosier said. “On the count of three. Draco, I’ll need your hands here. Wand out. You’ll have to cut the cord.”

Draco left her side. He took his position, wand at the ready. Their eyes met once more, a conversation only based on the sheer emotion in their eye, an understanding of what must be done at first sight.

Narcissa entered at last minute. She was displaced at the side of the bed. Her face was tense with discomfort. It was clear she was unsure where to be. Weight shifted from one leg to the other as her soft voice offered a show of comfort.

Hermione swallowed. “I’m so tired. I don’t think I can sit up and push.”

She placed more weight on her mother’s hold. Her bum shifted and lifted. 

The Malfoy matron was at her side, two hands on Hermione’s arm and pulled her right side up.

“There, there.” She cooed. Her lovely perfume entered the air. So gentle and lovely. Hermione could have plunged her nose against the witch’s neck. “Deep breath, love.”

Blood. It was everywhere. Her legs stained with the redness.

She watched Draco’s pale face lose more color at the sight of all the fluid as it left her body. He pulled at the knot of his tie.

Served him right for being so formally dressed to an event that left Hermione’s body torn in half nearly.

Contractions refused to cease. They battered Hermione’s energy with each passing minute, every clench and push of her body. It was a fight to free her body of the little creature she’d grown for ten months, but at long last, a final push freed her of the immense pressure at the end of her body, and a full breath filled her lungs.

A shrill cry entered the room a moment later. It was a beautiful melody that took their breaths away. The entire Manor fell quiet as the new life left it’s mark against the silence.

“Diffindo,” Draco muttered.

“Look at that.” Stacey Granger gasped. “She’s so beautiful.”

“Final push, Miss Granger. Almost done,” the healer instructed.

Hermione birthed the placenta without feeling of it leaving her body. She was allowed to lay back for a breath. She hadn’t seen her baby yet. Her body was so tired. Her legs trembled.

She was cleaned up and decency covered. It helped her feel less exposed, but not any less raw. The entire experience was surreal. It was not real life, but the parting of one’s soul. Even now, she felt the piece of her gone from her heart.

It felt nice to rest against the pillows of the bed. A soft quiet of the room as time passed by, allowing her a moment of peace compared to the rush of the last day. It felt home. At home.

The place where she laid was filled with people who cared for her. They tended to her wounds. Her blood was washed of their sheets without complaint. Their words of encouragement the only savior to what would have been a trying time.

No. It could not have been better.

A cool compress was pressed against her forehead. It was Narcissa’s kind smile to welcome her back.

“Wonderful, darling. You’ve birthed a beautiful baby.”

“Where is she?” Hermione asked.

“Draco is with her. Healer Rosier is giving her a quick look over.”

Her daughter. She wanted her daughter.

“I want to see her,” Hermione said. She pulled herself to sitting. The lack of her baby’s cry filled her with anxiety. “Is something wrong? Why isn’t she crying?”

The woman offered a smile of support. Her hand touched Hermione’s.

“She’s perfect,” she assured her. “A head full of blonde hair. Just like her father.”

Blonde hair. Blonde? Hermione didn’t have blonde hair. Weasleys, too, were not blondes. They were redheads. It made no sense.

“But…that can’t be.”

“The Malfoy gene is strong,” Narcissa said. “They will always be blonde.”

Though the words came to mind, she never said them: she’s not a Malfoy.

Hermione waited for the healer to finish his examination. It took entirely too long. She wanted to toss a book at him by the time he finally turned and placed the small bundle into Draco’s awaiting arms.

That only directed her focus to him.

Draco. His eyes were wide, like in fear. The widest she’d ever seen them.

His arms were full. The wrapped bundle prevented her from seeing even the head, or any hair.

“Draco.” His mother’s voice rang out clear. “Give little Caprica to Hermione. She wants to see her.”

He brought her close. A small pale face appeared in the light. The round sleeping face of a newborn babe nuzzled between fluffy blankets shattered her heart to a thousand pieces. All time stopped. She felt her entire being reach out to the little creature within Draco’s arms and embrace it with all her soul.

A tear dribbled down her cheek.

Draco bent his knees and displayed the newborn to her. “Here she is.”

Her hands trembled against the lush fleece. She waited so long for the baby to be there and now, she felt her heart scared to fall in love with her.

“She’s um, well, she’s - .”

“Blonde,” he finished. “Yes. She’s blonde.”

Narcissa ran a finger through the flattened strands and swirled up the platinum colored hairs. Not sandy. Not honey or champagne. Malfoy platinum blonde. It stirred up a host of little fine hairs. So many. Hermione’s jaw dropped. Her hands reached out and felt her child for the first time. The smooth, silken texture of her flesh and the hairs below.

“I was going to say beautiful.” Hermione smiled. “But yes. She’s blonde, too.”

It was warm. So much warmth beneath her touch.

Draco’s eyes, too, were filled with emotion, same as hers. Watery. Raw.

“Darling, give her the baby,” Narcissa whispered to her son. “She’s worked hard enough, don’t you think?”

He handed over the bundle, though he did not slip away as she thought he might. Instead, he climbed in behind her and wrapped his arms around her as their daughter was displayed proudly within Hermione’s grasp.

Both their mothers watched down as the little child was cradled within their own prospective, grown baby’s arms. Stacey held her hands together at her heart, tears freely dripping from her eyes, and stealing short breaths. The other mother was far more reserved. Her eyes gleamed with pride. Their full joy overflowed in kind regard, only expressed through the slightest curl of her lips.

Draco’s breath was hot against her neck. His cheek pressed against hers and stared down at the same face she did with pure shock.

Caprica Skye was a timid creature with pale blonde hairs than rivaled only the moonlight in their ethereal silver hue. Her eyes were closed. Lost in a sleep, the babe laid perfectly still, only shifting when her bundle was disrupted as she was transferred to another pair of arms. However, there was a sigh of relief that burst from her nostrils only when Hermione held her. The little girl knew her mother.

William Granger and Lucius Malfoy entered the suite after it was put back to place and Hermione given a chance to tidy herself. It was a beautiful moment that took place just as the hazy light of dawn shined in through the floor length windows. The room was cast in the soft yellow hues of rays as they pierced through the sheer curtains and ignited all their hearts on fire.

It was Draco who held his daughter. He’d stolen her away from his mother’s arms the moment Caprica stirred from her slumber.

His lips whispered soft words of sweetness to calm the infant back to her serenity.

A light shined through his eyes. It was brighter than the stars of the sky. All she knew was the love that poured from him was pure and true, stronger than what she imagined possible. He was in raptures at their baby like he was her true father, no question in his gaze to the connection he felt.

Hermione’s father embraced her with his overwhelming pressure. He kissed her forehead and flashed a glance at the precious newborn infant in her father’s arms.

“You did it, dove. You’re a mummy.”

“And you’re a grandfather,” she replied. Her eyes caught Draco’s. It drew him closer with their daughter in careful tow. “Would you like to meet your granddaughter?”

It was a moving moment to see her father’s eyes overfill with that swallowed, pretend-it-isn’t-there emotion. His arms were stiff with Caprica inside them. His motions were stalled and cradled her like a porcelain doll.

Draco slipped an arm around Hermione’s waist and held her close. An open palm touched his boasted chest.

Oh, how she loved him, a proud father too in love to care.

Stacey Granger leaned into her husband’s arms, teasing him lightly for his resistance to shift Caprica, and dared to rub her thumb along the newborn’s chubby cheeks, softer than a baby’s bum and unblemished. They were dazzled, lost in the daze a new baby inflicted upon a room.

Ever the proper royals, Lucius and Narcissa stood together with their faces stretched to indifference, as if either could keep their eyes off the newborn.

“Look at your father,” Hermione whispered. “It’s killing him to pretend he doesn’t want to hold her.”

“My parents are not so…expressive as yours are. My mother has only held a few in her life and did not seem to care for it,” Draco commented.

She rolled her eyes. “Honestly. Your mother loves children. Her heart shattered when you took Caprica away.”

“She started to fuss. What did you expect me to do?”

“All she did was whimper in her sleep,” Hermione retorted. “Her eyes didn’t even open.”

“She needed me.”

“Of course, she needed you. She’s always going to.” She squeezed his wrist for support. He was so protective of their baby and she was only an hour old. It was going to be a long road ahead if he didn’t learn to loosen his iron grip on them both. “But she needs other people, too. Her grandparents. Your mother has prepared months for her, made everything perfect, opened her heart to me being an unwed mother, underage and naïve in the ways of magical tradition, all so that her son and grandchild might be cared for. Can’t you see how important Caprica is?”

He sighed. Eyes glanced back at his own parents in their prim and proper, chin-held-high way. It was a wonder for his sharp wit that he overlooked the humanity of his two parents. They were two people blessed with new life in their home, from their only son, the continuation of their lineage and name. Children of Malfoy house were revered. Sacred. Special.

Draco loosened the rigid rod from his spine, deflated in his shoulder a centimeter, and released the swallowed air of breath from deep within his lungs. “We will have to share her, won’t we?”

Share.

She wondered the thought of Draco’s taut hold on the baby and found herself remembering the way he jumped to the conclusion that if Hermione had not wanted to be with him, it meant that she wanted to be with Ronald Weasley. His mind jumped to Ron. There was no doubt, now that she recalled it, that Draco Malfoy believed he was a placeholder at her side, someone to hold the figure until Ron might make up and take his place.

Draco fought for his station. He guarded Hermione in the end of her days when labor was expected at every corner. The pampering and support. The nest! He built the very nest in which their child would grow. All so that his place in their lives was secured. There was no aspect of Caprica that was not anchored with the memory of him, his patience, his support and love. Him.

Hermione felt tears threaten to cascade down her cheeks. It was not that strong. The hormones. They still raged through her body. She did not cry like an abandoned puppy.

“Share her,” her voice trembled as she fought back tears. It was a fact he noticed. His face turned soft as he regarded her. The faint lines of concern bubbling through his stoic beauty. “Yes. We will have to share her,” she continued. “But. We are her parents. The only ones she’ll ever have.”

She parted from Draco’s hold and gathered up Caprica in her arms once more. The weight was laughable compared to the size in which her body extended to make room for the baby. How had she come out so small? Hermione was the size of a cruise ship not a day ago.

The room grew quiet. Hermione felt small in the eyes of the two piercing eyes of the Malfoys. Their beauty and grace was beyond all Hermione knew of people. It made thoughts of self-doubt creep through her strength. Still, she didn’t allow them to linger.

It mattered. Narcissa and Lucius were grandparents. Draco’s parents. They were far more precious than her own pitiful fears of inadequacy.

If she stopped to consider it, the Malfoys were the reason her delivery was special in the first place. She was offered the finest antenatal care, tended to with the finest things, given privacy and a comfortable room with the two people she believed would miss the largest moment of her life. If it hadn’t been for all their politics and cunning, Caprica would have been born in a back room of the hospital wing in Hogwarts. The only party there to give her strength there would have been Draco. How lonely that would have felt.

The matriarch was collected as the infant was presented to her in wrapped muslin and fleece.

“Oh, thank you,” she said.

It was instinct for the witch to reply as if she’d been handed a cup of tea.

Draco had been wrong. The moment Caprica was handed over, his mother melted around the child. She cradled the being close, eyes never leaving the precious exposed face of pure innocence. The blur of her charcoal eyeliner appeared as did a soft glisten in the whites of her eyes.

She sniffed a polite little sniff as she regained her composure. “Do you mind? I’d like to see her.”

“Not at all,” Hermione replied with a smile.

Layers of protection were pulled from Caprica’s body. Her bundle went lax as the edges were pulled from their seat buried within other blankets.

A scrawny body of pure white emerged. Little legs kicked out at the sudden chill of air. Pale yellow socks stretched out from the thin legs as the infant started to squirm.

Hermione heard Draco suck his teeth behind her. She casted him a harsh look.

“Caprica Skye,” Narcissa hummed. Her voice was filled with so much joy. “You are a replica of your father, I’m afraid.”

The infant cooed a sound of contentment, still comfortable behind shuttered eyes.

It was there that Lucius was caught in Caprica’s snare. He was forced to forget his manners and the way gentlemen wizards were raised. His hands raised, ungloved, and ghosted across her forehead. There was a slight part in his jaw, the most level of awe Hermione witnessed in the man.

Through that touch, his heart exposed to the top of his throat. “There is no denying the name Malfoy on you, is there? Hm?”

It was a tone unrecognizable. It was not that of strong, unrelenting Lucius Malfoy.

Lucius was given his fair turn of holding his first grandchild before she awoke with vengeance. She cried for milk. The time of being cute and adorable faded with the emptiness of her belly growled.

Draco pushed the visitors from the room like there was a fire. He directed them out and ensured the door was secured behind so that no one might feel the need to come back.

Hermione settled in a position the healer taught her. It was quite foreign to have a sensation at her breast. The burst of breath from Caprica’s nose was strange, too. However, the baby knew just how to eat from an offered breast. She quietly embraced the breast and drank in long slow pulls.

At the edge of the bed, a pair of watchful eyes looked down at the scene. The assumed post of their protection, he guarded from afar.

“You can come sit if you like.” Her lips curled to a smile, albeit an exhausted one. Energy was being drained by the minute. Awake half the night turned out to be more tiring than she thought. “I don’t mind.”

He lingered at the edge before he tempted himself closer. He climbed alongside Hermione, his lap just below his daughter’s head as she nursed. The contrast of his black trousers highlighted the frightful lightness of the baby’s head.

“I cannot believe she is here,” he said. “It’s all happened so fast.”

“Speak for yourself.” Hermione moved her thumb down Caprica’s cheek. “She’s been kicking my bladder for months. I’m ready to have her here.”

A pair of fingers caressed the length of the arm against Hermione’s breast. “Can you believe how perfect she is?”

Looking down at the angel perched at her chest, latched onto her with a hold of life, comfortable and warm, it was disbelief, too, that filled her. No. She couldn’t believe it.

“She’s nothing like I imagined,” she answered softly. A probing gaze wandered up her cheeks as question seeped through Draco’s eyes. His confusion, a tangible feel in the air. “She’s better. Much better.”

Draco’s hand moved upward toward the baby’s head. A head covered in Malfoy colored hair. His fingers stopped to rub against the fine hairs.

“Were you blonde?” He asked, as if lost in thought. “As a child.”

She shook her head. “No. My hair was darker than it is now. Almost black.”

“Weasel was not blonde either.”

Her mind wrapped around that very question. Why was she blonde? It made no sense. Ronald was not blonde. None of the Weasleys were. Neither was she, or her family.

The only blonde she knew of was Draco.

But…he wasn’t the biological father.

“How can this be?” She pondered aloud. “I don’t understand…”

“She looks like me. Identical.”

“But she’s not a Malfoy. We didn’t sleep together until recently.”

He was at a loss, same as she was. “I’m not certain, Hermione. All I know is that she doesn’t look like Weasel. Or you, much. I…I think she’s my daughter. Mine. Actually, mine.”

“She’s always been yours, Draco.”

“Really mine,” he uttered with such emotion. His eyes frozen wide at her sleeping face. Such peace. At her mother’s breast, she dozed into another slumber of silence and comfort. It distracted their faces from one another, though out of the corner of her eye, she saw a glimmer of a tear split his silver-grey eyes. “My beloved Caprica.”

Hermione swallowed back her smile. “Our beloved.”

His lips shifted to a smirk. “Oh, love. Is that a tone of jealousy I detect?”

Her mouth dropped wide. “That’s ridiculous.”

The devious glint in his eye did not soothe the accusation in her belly.

“I’ve love enough for two.”

“Oh, piss off.” She growled.

They stared at their daughter for an indeterminate stretch of time. Neither wanted to break away from the vision. A living angel in their arms, perfect and soft, slender and cuddly.

It was like Professor Burbage had told them. A baby’s favorite place was a mother’s breast. Caprica slept in endless comfort if she was cradled against Hermione’s chest. However, when Hermione needed to use the loo to freshen herself from hours in the same sweat and pajamas, they opened up Draco’s Prada shirt (a fact that made Hermione’s eyes roll) and tucked the infant against his exposed bare chest.

The decoy worked, so long as it wasn’t used too often. If she grew hungry, her nose detected the difference in smell, and absence of milk, and demanded the real thing.

Despite the ache in her body, Hermione’s days within Malfoy Manor were so comforting she almost felt as if she was home. Her parents stayed in a suite within the Manor so that all their time was spent together. The Malfoy’s were gracious in their manners. Stacey Granger was distracted with high tea and strolls through the magnificent lawns as William was shown the prestigious artifacts of the Malfoy family. Many were priceless. It intrigued her father to view historic rarities up close. To say it didn’t suit Lucius Malfoy to boast the success of his family was a lie. He was a proud man. It was not over handed as some believed. What was presumed boasting was his mere graciousness to share precious things with the ones he cared about.

Like a loyal dog, Draco never strayed from either of his girls. They were the apple of his eye. His lips kissed Hermione’s cheek every ten minutes like clockwork. He was too smitten with their child to think about anything else other than the efforts Hermione made to bring her earth side. The pride in his chest had yet to deflate from the moment Caprica was born.

“I love you,” he’d whisper out into the quiet night after sneaking into the suite against his mother’s request that Hermione not be disturbed.

“I love you,” she’d repeat.

“I love you so much.”

Those times her eyes would be closed. Her mind was close to sleep. His words kept her on the brink of reality and a dream state. That was the point where her mind would reply, but her lips wouldn’t move. His mouth would ramble on in their infinite abyss. She’d swear that she dreamed about him talking. Just talking.

“I cannot wait to make you mistress of the Manor one day,” he had said in her dreams. “Hermione Malfoy does have a nice ring to it.”

In the blink of an eye, Hermione and Draco were forced to return to Hogwarts to complete their exams. The term end was at hand. Just not yet. They were expected back at the castle for their classes after only three days of recovery. The Manor fell quiet as their belongings were packed. Even Caprica felt the difference. She squirmed if she wasn’t held in Hermione’s arms. It was a sad day. Dreary. Rain poured constantly from the sky. The moment came too soon to bid their parents goodbye.

“I don’t know if I can do this alone,” Hermione told her mother. The baby in her arms was too precious. What if she needed help? How could she ever deny a face like that? “Perhaps I shouldn’t return.”

“Are you mental, little dove?” William piped in. “The end is near. You’ve only little more than a week left. That is not so hard, now is it? Besides, you know what they’ll do to you if you do not return. All hope for a magical life for Caprica is taken away. I know you don’t want that.”

Of course, she didn’t. Her entire life would be in ruins then.

“You’re not alone, love. You’ve got Draco.” Her mother grabbed hold of the sides of Hermione’s face and brought their eyes level. “You are not one to quit when things get hard. You endure. You’re strong. Look at what you’ve done already. Your father and I are already so proud, and you’re only a young woman. Imagine what awaits after school. The world at your grasp. Don’t let it slip away because of fear, Hermione. There is no place for fear in this world. All it does is swallow you up and spit you out.”

Stacey released her daughter with a sad smile. Her father shared the same look. Her eyes swam with grief. Their time together was done.

Behind them, Draco set the trunks against the floor. “Hermione.”

She looked over her shoulder.

“Are you ready?” He asked.

Even though the answer was no, she nodded. There was no choice. Hogwarts awaited.

Both her parents gave Caprica a kiss. Their soft murmurs of love and goodbye tore her insides to shreds.

The Malfoy’s were far more reserved in their farewell. Their calm tones spoke to the effort they made. Hermione knew they both loved Caprica like her own parents did. How sad it was to watch them force themselves not to show it.

“I’ve sent some things to your suite at Hogwarts,” Narcissa informed her. Her fingertips ghosted through Caprica’s blonde hairs once more. “They’ll hold you over until terms end.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. You’ve been so kind to us,” she said. “We appreciate all you’ve done. I know it was no easy feat to allow us this holiday.” Her eyes glanced at the iron stiff gaze of Draco’s father. The intensity in his indifference was difficult to get used to. “We’re very blessed to have you.”

Narcissa’s lips curled ever so slight in the corners. A watery sheen overtook her eyes. She blinked them away with an upward glance.

“Should you ever need a thing,” Lucius spoke, “we’re only a letter away.”

“Don’t hesitate to write even if you don’t need anything,” Narcissa added quickly. “I’d love to know how she does and how she changes. If she favors any toys, I’ll have the Manor stocked for when she visits. You’re both welcome to visit anytime you like. No prior notice. You’re always welcome here. Perhaps, we might pop by sometime, too.”

Hermione loved her mother with all her heart, but she felt the instinct to comfort the witch in front of her as her own. The love poured through Narcissa in her graciousness. She might not cry or beg to hold her granddaughter, but there was that lingering gaze that said those wishes were there.

“Has Draco not told you?” she found herself saying, though it was not fully decided on.

Narcissa’s eyes glanced at her son. “Told us what, dear?”

“We thought it might not be fair to either one of us to stay in one place. Caprica is both of ours after all. She has a right to her family.” It was clear through Draco’s gaze that he was uncertain of what was to be said. He trekked closer. A hand grabbed her side gently. “If it acceptable to you, we thought a week with my parents in Hampstead, then a week here in Wiltshire. Of course, I understand this is last minute. If your schedules don’t allow - .”

“Nonsense,” Lucius Malfoy interrupted, surprising the entire room. Even his wife’s pale eyes looked at him through widen lens. “Our son’s family has a right to this home. It is not ours to deny it.”

It was settled. The Malfoy’s fell into comfortable stances as their anxiety defused.

“We’ll see you at King’s Cross,” Stacey said.

The echo through the large foyer of Malfoy Manor was a sad cry. It was the parting of their souls. Every person in the room felt the grief within their beings. It went against the order of nature to divide a family, yet there was no option left.

A baby had to be restrained to the walls of Hogwarts until her mother earned her right to live without supervision.

Hermione and Draco huddled close. Caprica was within both of their arms, each with a trunk loop in their other hand. A spell was muttered and poof! They were gone.


	7. Part VII

# Part VII

Their feet touched the ground at Merlin’s Gate, the extension of the school’s anti-apparition ward. Caprica moved within her bundle, whimpering softly at the discomfort that came from apparating. Her little fingers extended straight. The little white nails poked through the swirl of layers in Hermione’s arms. She looked down at the little face with a soft frown.

“Sorry, little one. I know that wasn’t nice to your tummy, now was it?” She whispered.

The baby relaxed at the sound of her voice. The pale eyes of the newborn retreated back behind the cover of eyelids.

“How is she?” Draco asked. His voice a loud ring through their ears.

Only what answered him was not the sound of assurance from her lips. It was instead the sound of a few bodies now in motion at their arrival. That was when both of their eyes traveled from the tiny ball in their arms around the room. Sets of eyes examined them. Most were familiar sets they’d seen for years. Two were not.

The long robes and taut expressions spoke to their identities: Aurors. The Ministry had sent Aurors?

Draco’s back straightened. He stepped forward, his body a shield between his infant child and strangers.

“What’s this then?” He snipped. “Bounty hunters?”

Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape were there, as was Filch. All wore a similar expression of resigned indifference. It was not the welcome Hermione expected upon return. Not that she wanted a parade. It was only that she’d given birth only three days prior for the first time. Her newborn daughter was away from her family so that her mother wouldn’t be Obilivated by the Ministry. Some shred of pity or respect would have been nice. Perhaps, a kind smile and a quick escort to a private room where Caprica might be settled?

Professor McGonagall’s taut lips pulled back as she started to speak. “Do not be dramatic, Mister Malfoy. They were a mere precaution.”

“For what? So that we might be hunted down if we didn’t return on time?”

The biting tone in his voice was powerful. It might have hurt if she’d been on the end of it.

Instinctively, Hermione pulled Caprica closer to her chest. Eyes shifted about. She felt tension rise up through her body. Awareness of her wand pushed forefront to her mind as it rested in her side pocket.

“It is the law,” one of the Aurors barked.

Hermione slowly shifted the weight of her precious baby bundle into one arm. The intensity of the room had her on edge. She needed one hand open to grab her wand. It was irrational, she recognized that. Ministry Aurors would not attack her for fulfilling her agreement. She returned to school. They wouldn’t do that. Still, the harsh gaze in their eye did not settle her anxiety. Caprica settled within the crevice of her arm, cradled against Hermione’s body, with a relaxed sigh.

“The word of the family Malfoy is as good as law,” Draco barked back. “My father is a member of the Wizengamot for Salazar’s sake!”

“They are not here for you, Mister Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall replied flatly. Her beady amber eyes revealed just whom she meant. The witch behind his back. An expression of understanding must have crossed Draco’s face because the elderly witch then lifted a brow in response. “Miss Granger is not of Malfoy family and is subject to Ministry intervention if she did not return.”

It was not like Draco to joust with Hogwarts professors. He was raised better than that. However, the moment of being a new father in a threatening environment left him rather unlike himself.

“My father will hear of this,” he replied slow and sharp. A threat. His eyes turned to the two Aurors. “Your boss, Rufus Scrimgeour, is close friends with my father, you know. I would expect a bit more caution from a pair of Aurors knowing what insult against the Malfoy family might mean for their career.”

The blow was surprising. Words, chosen perfectly. The meaning sank in rather clearly through the hardened faces. It let them a bit stunned.

Hermione found her way to the professor that remained silent throughout the interaction. He stood a wraith of death, in silence and black. There were times that he looked out his colleague with a flash of displeasure before it melted back to the solemn indifference.

Their eyes met. His black orbs regarded her, the wide eyed plead of what might have interpreted as begging. Her eyes dipped back to the baby in her arms.

For the sake of Caprica, the moment needed to end.

They both knew that once Draco’s temper was flared, a vengeance would ignite with an unquenchable thirst to ruin everyone who stood in his way. He was quickly approaching that point.

The professor then cleared his throat coarsely and said, “Only a few handfuls of Ministry employees have such a fate for lesser transgressions. Perhaps Lucius, in his grandfatherly age, might be lenient to the insult of his two heirs.”

To say it diffused things would be a lie. It only added to the tension throughout.

Draco was the only one calmed by the statement. The relentless gaze of his grey eyes whittled away the Aurors’ willingness to remain. They shifted awkwardly. One dared look at Professor McGonagall.

A long career within the walls of Hogwarts left Professor McGonagall a little immune to such threats from students. Her eyes rolled in their sockets. A flutter of her emerald green robes went as her arms waved in a rather dismissive way.

“We can handle the students from here. Thank you for your help. I shall personally write Mister Scrimgeour commending your service. Yes, yes. Goodbye now.”

The Aurors popped away. Their bodies a vibrant void in the atmosphere.

A scathing look rose from the elderly witch. “If you’re quite finished with your fit Mister Malfoy, please go back to your dormitory. We’ve had a band of Cornish pixies let loose in the castle. They are being apprehended, but until they are, all students are to remain in their dormitories.”

“But professor - .”

“I won’t hear of it,” she sternly replied. “Three days of freedom at Malfoy Manor surely are enough for the time being. No doubt, Miss Granger needs to study for exams, as do you.”

“She needs me there.” Draco’s nostrils flared red. “To care for our daughter.”

The professor stepped forward. She looked at him through her beady eyes and pulled taut lips. Her glasses dropped from her nose as a necklace across her robes.

“Should Miss Granger need assistance, I’ll have her report to Gryffindor Tower. There are plenty of her own house there to aid her.”

Her house? They hadn’t been her house all year.

It was an insult to even mention the Gryffindors in front of Draco. He was primed ready, teeth cracking at the pressure of his clench, lips curled into a snarl, when the professor of his own house stepped in. Professor Snape grabbed his student’s bicep.

“That’ll be all, Mister Malfoy,” he said. “You’re dismissed.”

Hermione felt the rising rage as it boiled through his pores. It caused Caprica to wiggle within her arms. Her little lips started to whimper and moan, as if in pain.

The sound hit Draco’s ears. In an instant, he defused. The height of his back fell as he went to Hermione’s side to tend to his daughter.

“We’ll be alright,” Hermione assured him. Draco’s presence always calmed Caprica. She was settled again. “Honestly. Can’t be that long, can it? They’re Cornish pixies.”

A restrained smile crossed his lips. “I suppose so. Even Weasel could handle a pixie.”

She chuckled lightly. “As long as it wasn’t a spider, he’d try at least. Whether he’d be successful or not would be the question.”

Draco was amused, even if he was struggling to part from them, his mood was not violent. The pain was clear in his eyes. His fingertips ran along the soft life of Caprica’s cheeks.

Her heart was heavy. She couldn’t imagine what it felt like to leave Caprica so soon. She wasn’t ready for it. And just because Draco was a father, didn’t mean that he, too, was affected by it. He hated it. His heart was at the back of his heart trying not to fall out.

“Mister Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall said rather impatiently, “it is time for you to leave.”

Draco sighed. He gripped the handle of his trunk in hand.

“I love you,” he whispered as he placed his lips against Hermione’s cheek.

Kissing was not exactly permitted. Professor McGonagall exhaled sharply, as if in displeasure. Hermione guessed it was the reason he’d done it in the first place.

“I love you, too,” she whispered back.

Professor Snape and Draco went one way while Hermione and Professor McGonagall went another. As they walked the corridors of the castle, the chittering of pixies was all about. It echoed. There were startling crashes, as if things being pushed over in the castle, followed by the shouting of the staff as they tried to round up the pixies before the entire castle was trashed.

It was a silent trek through. Hermione kept her focus on Caprica. She held the baby close, letting their hearts align, so that the pain of being away from Draco wasn’t so strong.

When she thought of this moment before Caprica’s birth, she hadn’t expected it to be difficult. They were apart a fair amount. They each had their own lives happening. He had Quidditch. She studied and read. It was not uncommon to be apart for any stretch of time throughout the day. Now? Now they belonged together. He was meant to be with Caprica, always, just as she was. He should be there. It was his daughter, too.

They arrived at the suite where she was left to help herself inside. She ensured the door was latched good and tight to prevent any pixies from finding their way inside. Pixies were devious in their ways. They loved to cause chaos.

Chaos with a newborn was the last thing she needed.

She laid Caprica out on the fluffy white bedspread. The baby remained still, lost in sleep. It gave Hermione time to unload their belongings for the last few days in the castle.

More than anything, Hermione wished for a nap. It was tiring to be alive and caring for a newborn. Her body ached. She still bled from birth and waddled with a soreness. Her belly was enlarged, as if she was still pregnant, and there was no other desire to do anything other than curl up with Caprica and sleep the days away.

The desire was pushed aside. She was only one person. A single mother did not get to spoil herself when so much rested upon her shoulders.

After the clothes were unpacked, toys, nappies, blankets, flannels, products were unloaded, she took a vial of potion to stop the aching in her body. The healer had given Hermione a handful to keep her energy up through exams. It helped stopped the pulsating pains in her back.

Then it was time to nurse. She fed the hungry baby until she passed out against her breast.

Hermione lowered her into the bassinet with a canopy of purple and yellow. The little puffs of breath out of her nose were too precious. She watched Caprica sleep for an inordinate amount of time before she realized she had things to do.

Books of her classes were tossed upon her bed. There were at least ten she needed to review. Had she had access to the library, she would have grabbed more.

It was easier to say that she was going to study than actually do it. Every time she found her place in the book and read a paragraph or two, her eyes grew heavy, burned and threatened to close. Soon, her blinks took longer and longer to recover from.

The sounds of contentment from the bassinet made her settle easier, deeper into the pillows. One by one the muscles in her back relaxed. Her hold on the books became lighter. Every once in a while, they’d fall from her grip onto her face or chest. It snapped her attention back to the book. But only for a while…

A thudding knock brought her back to life. She surged forward up to sitting. It was dark within the room. Light from the windows had dimmed to the early evening.

Her head spun. She must have fallen asleep.

The knock happened again. A loud thundering knock that rattled the hinges.

“Good Godric,” she muttered beneath her breath.

Only, when she swung her legs to get out of bed, she hadn’t realize that a tray with the evening meal had been placed at the end of her blankets and kicked the entire tray onto the floor. It clattered and boomed down to the floor. Food went everywhere. A hearty explosion of water and tea and mashed potatoes and pudding flew across the room in a makeshift bomb.

It was nothing compared to the unholy shriek that came from Caprica’s mouth. Her wails soon filled the suite.

“Oh no,” Hermione whimpered. She ran to the bassinet and tried to calm the baby down.

Caprica was beyond calm. She flailed her arms and kicked her legs. Her nose and eyes were wrinkled up into an angry expression. The creamy pale of her flesh was a cherry red.

Of course, the door was pounded again and again.

She shoved the dummy into the baby’s mouth, hoping it might help, and flew to the door to tell whoever it was off. Her feet stomped against the fluffy white rug onto the wood boards. It rattled the water goblet on the bedside table.

The sounds of her daughter’s cries were literal torture to endure.

Perhaps it was the surging hormones from the imbalance in her body or the exhaustion or the frustration of Hogwarts welcome that made her want to break down into tears right then. Whatever it was held off. Thankfully.

She flung open the door. “What the bloody hell is -.”

Her mouth went instantly dry.

Ronald Weasley stood in the doorway. He was sheepish when he regarded her fiery eyes. The knocking fist lowered from mid-air at the loss of the solid wood door.

“Hey Mione,” he said.

“Hey?” She growled. “That’s what you woke the baby for? To say hey?”

Caprica wailed a hearty cry once more. Hermione pulled a tangled chunk of curls over her shoulder and went back to tend to her daughter. The poor little thing was shaking from being so angry.

She murmured sweet nothings into her ear as she rocked her back and forth.

“Hush, dove. Hush, hush. Mummy’s sorry. She’s so sorry.”

The door was left open. It was not exactly an invitation for him to enter, but he did anyway.

His eyes looked at the floor where a mess of a meal laid. “Guess I startled you.”

“You think?” She answered sourly.

“I tried knocking lightly.” His hands shoved into his pockets. “I been out there for forty minutes trying to get you to open up.”

“I was sleeping! I did just give birth you know.”

“I know.” He nodded. Those bright blue eyes traveled down to the little creature against her chest. They lingered on the length of platinum blonde hair atop her small head. “I mean, Professor McGonagall told me.”

That witch.

Hermione internally groaned. She was tiring of Professor McGonagall. The once adored witch was now fallen to an annoyance. The professor never relented her opinion on the matter of Hermione’s pregnancy. She made it clear she didn’t believe Draco the father, nor that it was consensual if it was.

She sniffed in distaste. “What’s it matter to you? This is just a slag’s baby. A punishment for being stupid enough to get pregnant. Isn’t that what you said?”

He looked down at the floor. “Yeah. I mean, yeah, that’s what I said. I don’t think that though. You’re not a slag, Hermione. You’re my friend.”

Then he dared give her a glimmer of a smile. Had she not been holding Caprica, she’d have hexed him for it.

She snapped her neck around and refused to see it.

“Why are you here, Ronald?”

“Professor McGonagall came right after they got the pixies. Told me to come here. Thought we might need to divvy up our Prefect duties now that you’ve got the baby.”

“Well she was wrong,” Hermione explained curtly. “Nothing’s changed.”

“You won’t need help with the baby? It’s a bit to do on your own.”

The implication that he would have anything to do with her baby was infuriating.

She shook her head. “She’s got a father.”

Again, his eyes went to the pale hair atop her head. Hermione tucked her closer inside her embrace. Something about his eyes. She hated them. She hated how much she used to want them. They were lazy and demeaning at times, kind at others.

Once upon a time, blue eyes used to be so beautiful. Shimmering blue with milky white.

Once upon a time, this baby would have been his. A full head of red hair and those same blue eyes in her skull. Caprica would have been a Weasley.

“I see that,” he answered lowly. His eyes dipped to the floor. “So it’s really him then?”

“Him what?”

“You cheated on me with Malfoy. He’s the father. Not me.”

It wasn’t said with aggression. It was soft and subtle, whimpering almost.

Tears of anger surged through her eyes. “Yes. Caprica is his daughter.”

“Why him?” Ron asked. “Why did you have to cheat on me with him? Why’d you have to get knocked up by him?”

Her jaw literally fell open. “Excuse me?”

“Things could’ve been alright between us if it wasn’t for her.”

That went too far.

“What planet do you live on Ronald? What planet do you think would make things between us alright? You were shagging Lavender! Everyone knew it. The entire Tower, the entire castle. With the bloody way you two carried on, it was the likely the entire world knew it!”

Caprica started to stir at the jostling against Hermione’s chest. She tried to find a place to snuggle her nose. Her little neck struggling to lift her head.

It was not the place to discuss things. Her daughter didn’t need to hear the pathetic hashing of old wounds. All she needed to hear was the comforting love between her parents.

Hermione gently placed her down in the bassinet. She pulled the blankets tight against the baby’s body.

She swallowed back her frustrations. “You need to leave.”

“Come on, Mione.”

“You cannot possibly have thought we’d make up after all this, did you? After all you said to me? You threatened me, had the whole house turn on me, bullied me. Draco was right. I can’t believe I let someone as dim-witted as you get the better of me. If I’d have killed myself, I doubt you would have even realized it was because of you.” She pointed toward the door. “The only place where you belong is on the other bloody side of that door.”

“Oi!” His voice suddenly raised, the first height of his tone the entire time. “Malfoy said things, too. I was hurt by that.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Did you want to kill yourself because of them?”

“No.”

“Then they don’t compare,” she said. Her voice suddenly went even. “Get the hell out of here and don’t back ever again.”

She slammed the door shut after him, forgetting that her infant was within the room. It awoke Caprica from her slumber with a rumbling cry. Hermione frowned.

Her first day back was going splendid.

Later that evening, Draco finally found his way to the suite. She’d given him the private password so that he didn’t have to knock even time. He slipped inside silently while she was in the bathtub with Caprica.

His footsteps were quiet. It was only by the motion at the corner of her eye that alerted her to his presence. The doorway was filled with the black flowy robes of his uniform.

“Hello.” She smiled.

His grey eyes overlooked his shoulder. “I take that it wasn’t easy.”

The mess of her meal tray was still spread upon the floor. The energy to devote to cleaning it was lost when the bright eyes of her baby opened that evening. It was the first time she seemed energetic enough to play. They’d talked and sang and cuddled when a nappy full of poo convinced Hermione it was time for a good washing.

Hermione shook her head. Her brown curls were knotted atop her head. There was no time to wash them with Caprica around. She liked being held too much. Every minute or so she whimpered to be held again. A fact that Hermione blamed upon Draco since all he did was hold her.

“Not at all.”

His lips frowned. “I’m sorry.” He approached the tub. His finger ran along Hermione’s jaw line. “I should have been here.”

“Where have you been?”

The sound of Draco’s voice caught in Caprica’s ears. She started to squirm. Her eyes searched for him.

He chuckled; arms opened up to grab the bubbly wet body from the tub. For the first time, he didn’t flinch to dirty his robes. All the soap and bubbles of the bath soaked through without a second glance.

All he cared to do was hold his daughter against his chest. He bounced his body a little as she curled into the new embrace.

A sigh erupted from his parted lips. “After the crack team of pixie wranglers managed to finish their job, I was given a request from Professor McGonagall to come to her office. The witch was late. I sat there for twenty minutes waiting until she came and forced me to write lines. Apparently, my behavior was not fitting of a Hogwarts student.” His lips fell to a biting snarl before it receded. “I only just finished before I came here.”

“I missed you,” she answered hollowly.

Sure, napping with her daughter was wonderful, but it didn’t compare to napping with both her daughter and Draco.

“I missed you too,” he said. He bent down and kissed her forehead. “Both of you.”

Her lips pulled to a small smile. “I’m glad you’re here now.”

He pulled up a chair to the side of the tub and allowed Hermione soak longer within the tub as he held Caprica. With only the slight leaning against the chair, the infant was able to lay comfortably against his chest without being clutched there. She was content to sleep with her bum in the air. “What did my girls do without me?”

Hermione rubbed her tired eyes. “Slept.”

“Ooh,” he cooed against Caprica’s ear. “Did you get to nap with mummy? Lucky girl.”

“Honestly, I should have been studying. I tried. I just happened to fall asleep doing it.”

“I imagine we’ll sleep all holiday.” He pulled the wand from his pocket and summoned a blanket to top Caprica’s back. “Can’t wait.”

“You’re not upset about what I told your mother, are you? I know we hadn’t totally discussed switching houses…”

He gave her a curious glance. “It was my idea you do remember.”

She applied lavender shower gel along her shoulders, chest and arms. The scent perfumed the steamy air. It reminded her of a muggle spa. Lavender was a favorite. It had so many calming properties. Wizards and witches used it in many potions for similar purposes.

Her mum had given her lavender bath products so that it might help both Hermione and Caprica sleep well. It was no lie that new mums didn’t sleep all that long. Two hours was all that Caprica could go without being fed. And the poor little girl proved to be a hungry piggy.

“You are known for changing your mind.” She challenged with a lifted eyebrow.

“The only way I’d change my mind is if I thought either one of you wouldn’t be comfortable,” Draco said.

“What about you? The muggle world doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”

“I’d be more uncomfortable without you two.”

It was enough to say that they all were in love with one another. Draco loved Hermione deeply. Caprica loved Draco. Both of her parents loved the newborn more than life itself. The future was filled of the constant of them three, through it all, without one, being wounded by their absence, never whole unless they are as they should be.

Eventually, Caprica needed a new nappy. Draco let Hermione finish her bath while he cared for their daughter. A melody of their coos and laughter made self-care easier to do. The feeling of joy throughout the walls was a difference compared to the emotion that Ron dragged in.

She hadn’t thought to tell Draco that Ronald visited her. Only, the more she thought of it, she believed he’d feel insecure that she hadn’t mentioned it. Like a secret. As if, something remained between the two of them.

Whatever emotion, true or figment, Ronald Weasley held for her, it was not returned.

Hermione dried and dressed into a pair of loose set of pajamas topped with a luscious blush pink robe. Her slippers shuffled across the floor over to the fireplace where a blank slate of floor was. It was where Draco and Caprica played, by the light of the flames. Warm air forced from the mantle.

She looked around. There was an absence of the overwhelming scent of food. The tray was empty and clean atop the bedspread. All figments of food were removed from the walls.

Though it was May, some nights were cool. The windows were fogged, telling a cold story about what rested outside the glass.

“She’s doing that thing again,” he said. “Rooting.”

“Ah. She’s hungry. Again.”

She curled between his legs and placed the searching mouth against her nipple. A familiar sensation sourced at her breast; the feeling of milk being pulled from her body.

“Draco,” her voice fluttered.

“I know, I know. You’re hungry. I’ll have the elves bring another meal.”

“No. I mean, yes, I am, but that’s not what I was going to say.” She swallowed. Her heart pounded frantically. Something inside felt apprehensive to reveal the truth. What if Draco didn’t believe her? What if he thought she loved Ron? He would go.

As if he sensed her discomfort, he folded his body in around hers. His face nuzzled into her wet locks. Their cheeks pressed together. His arms rested below hers, holding Caprica, too, in his arms. “What is it, love?”

“You didn’t ask how the tray fell to the floor.”

His breath warmed her neck. “An accident, I presume. Was Caprica crying?”

“She was after it went.” Hermione sighed. The slippery nature of her guts knotted taut into a solid mass. “Um, you know how I drifted off to sleep while I was studying? Well, I woke up because someone was at the door and because I hadn’t been awake when it was put there, I kicked it over.”

Draco knew that she wouldn’t tell him if there wasn’t a purpose to. His mind knew better than to believe she’d tell a boring recount of nothing. Their time together was too precious.

“Yeah?” He encouraged her to continue on.

“And, um, it was Ronald. At the door.”

“Really.” His voice was not deceiving enough to pretend he was not upset by it. Nor curious. He couldn’t help himself. “What did he want?”

“Said Professor McGonagall sent him here to discuss Prefect duties. Not that I believe it.” She snorted. “I think he came to see Caprica. He seemed rather surprised that her hair was so light. Like yours.”

“Join the club.” It was a light humor, but at least he wasn’t angry.

Hermione snickered. “I kicked him out. He was feeling sorry for himself. That’s all it was. Maybe Lavender is through with him. Something. The way he was carrying on like we could have been together after all this if I hadn’t had a baby. Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Not like those Weasley’s are known for anything other than their irrational urge to reproduce and abandon their children,” Draco snipped. Oops. Never mind. He was angry. Politely. “Surprised he cared about it at all. His father doesn’t. He leaves children all over England without a care who they are.”

“Molly would string Ronald up if he behaved like that.”

That was not meant as a defense of character. There was nothing respectable about it. However, it was the truth. Ronald was Molly’s favorite. She’d never allow her son to behave like his father. She was much too dominating for that to happen. Besides, Ron couldn’t keep any secret to himself. He told Molly everything.

“Can’t do much about lineage though, can she? He’s his father’s son,” Draco said. “It’s an embarrassment to the Ministry to have an employee behave so unrefined. It is a miracle they haven’t fired the wizard.”

“The Weasley’s depend upon Arthur’s job at the Ministry. They’d starve if he didn’t have that job.”

“Would it be such a loss? I mean, you’ve seen the way they behave. Unrefined dolts roaming this castle.”

“But they have no choice in who their parents are,” Hermione replied. “They shouldn’t be punished for something they haven’t done.”

“I’m only saying that the Weasley’s shouldn’t be given leeway to behave the way they do. The lives that are ruined by the Weasley’s should say well enough that they deserve a punishment.”

Hermione gasped. The little creature at her breast was the product of such a Weasley and that was not how she saw it.

“I wouldn’t have Caprica if it wasn’t for those Weasley’s, Draco. _We_ wouldn’t have her.”

“Caprica isn’t a Weasley. She’s a Malfoy.”

“She wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for me being pregnant in the first place! She may be a Malfoy now because of the love bond, but she was conceived a Weasley.”

Their bodies naturally pulled away. She no longer leaned against him. He’d already rose to standing, looming over her. His black shadow dulled the warmth of the flames.

Caprica remained settled in her milk coma. The muslin blanket was light and cool for the warm nights. The pale linens framed in the sleeping face.

How could she not think of the beginning? How could she not consider that her own daughter might not have happened if not for Ronald’s wayward liaisons?

The suite changed in air. It was displaced. Uncomfortable. The rising height of Draco’s shoulder told as much.

Hermione placed Caprica gently into her bassinet so that she might not disturb. Hermione liked to talk with her hands. A bundle of sleeping baby not only impeded that but disliked it very much.

A fire met her when she approached. Heat filled his nostrils, a protective fire through his orifices, the light of his fire inside. Malfoy house sigil was a dragon. Fitting for him.

“I thought you hated that Weasel,” he snapped. His voice was erratic rather than cold. The nature of fire was that it moved, alive with emotion. That was the one thing that surprised her. Slytherin was known for ice. Ice cold hearts, cold demeanor, touch starved, standoffish, solid, unforgiving as ice. Not fire. There were times that the ice of Draco broke away to full flame, like that of the heart of a lion. “I thought you hated the whole lot of them. The entire Weasley family. They’ve been nothing but dogs to you.”

“Don’t you think I, of all people, know that? I do. I hate them so much. I’ll never forgive them for what they’ve done.” Sounds hissed through her teeth like spitting flames. “Ronald has hurt me far more than any person alive on this planet. I cannot list the ways I’ve been affected by his carelessness. But to condemn them to poverty? To suffering? All for what? To teach a lesson they might never learn? There are little faces out there. Baby faces like Caprica’s, who aren’t loved and worshipped like hers. They rely on Arthur, too. To wish him to fail all so that he might learn a lesson condemns all below him. The forgotten ones.”

Draco shook his head. “They don’t deserve all that they have.”

“They have so little, Draco” Hermione said. “To take that away would ensure their deaths. Their ruin, certainly, but it might mean their death, too. Could you live with that on your conscience? Because I couldn’t.”

The houses of Hogwarts castle were each formed with key traits in mind. What each house embodied is a defining piece of their character. Slytherin house was known for their ambition and survival. Both of which involved cunning. That came at a cost. Their loyalty remained to themselves. Perhaps, their families, but the sole purpose of themselves to achieve their goals that benefitted them.

Draco was deathly loyal to his family. But friends? Not so much.

She knew that he might be able to take ruthless action to ruin a family such as the Weasleys. It was what made Lucius Malfoy a talented businessman. The dissociation of empathy.

It was a trait that was a burden and a gift, as all the house traits were. Draco would not blink to harm another if it meant protecting himself or his family. He was able to do what needed to be done, if need be. Sleep would be his friend, a companion, something he never yearned for.

Hermione’s compassion was the same way. A weight to carry around under the burden of guilt, even if there was nothing to be done. She carried all those emotions around with her. Compassion molded her to think of others first. If she could give something she wanted to someone else, she would just to see them happy. However, it disabled the ability to care about herself first.

“It’s okay to be angry,” she told him.

“Funny,” he muttered shortly. “I was going to say the same thing.”

She stopped short. Her breath caught in her chest as the words seemed to echo.

Experience told her that these things were bound to happen. Every relationship fought. They argued. It was a bad sign if they didn’t. Still, it’d crept up on silent wings. She never expected it. The way he loved her was too true, too strong, too close to his heart.

“Are you angry at Ronald or are you angry at me?”

His eyes crossed her face. A twisted tortured hurt split through their solid grey.

“Him. I hate him. I hate that he got to you first. I hate his guts for getting you pregnant and abandoning you. I hate the way he made you cry. Everywhere. There isn’t a soul in this castle that didn’t see you crying because of the prat, and I hate him for it.” An angry had grown through. His voice was hoarse with rage. “I hate that he’s the one they all think you should be with. After all this. He’ll be the one they remember.”

A rugged hand ran through his hair. It split the spell of his hair and fell into messy strands on either side of his head. He unraveled his tie. It was yanked violently from the knot and tossed over his shoulder as he muttered, “bloody thing.”

Hermione was stunned speechless. The words failed to come. Thoughts of words failed to come. Everything just failed.

So, she stood there, lost for words and any semblance of comprehension, until the silence was noted by the other within the room, once he pulled from his own frustration. His eyes downcast. The once white fists fell loose.

He approached, slow but steady. The rising strength of cologne gave his proximity in readable measures. Once it filled every breath, she knew he was so close their noses might touch.

“I wanted all this with you,” his lips murmured, only threatening to break at the end. “He was never supposed to be part of it.”

She nodded. Her eyelashes fluttered back small tears making them a dense wet mess of hairs every which way above her eye. Their black frame only aided the foggy vision in being useless.

Hermione wiped below her eyes. “Well he was, alright? He was there. He caused all this. But that doesn’t mean that I care. Whatever scum he is made of, I don’t care, because he’s the reason I got to have you and Caprica Skye. I won’t question destiny or how it brought us together. All that matters is that we’re here. We made the choice. Our lives are just beginning. But they can’t do that if you hold onto the past. I mean look at her. Look at our daughter. She is the most precious thing in this world. I would kill for her. I know you would, too. She’s a Malfoy. Maybe once she was something else, but she chose you. She chose your love, your blood, she became apart of you. Shouldn’t that matter more?”

By the end of it, she was crying. Uncontrollably.

It was his fault for making her so upset. The hormones of pregnancy still surged within her veins. Had he waited until they were regulated, they might have had a conversation without tears and shouting.

Stupid wizards.

Draco wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Their bodies molded together as he pulled her close. The heat of his chest warmed her cooled cheeks. His shirt smelled like bath bubbles.

“I’m sorry,” his lips muttered into her hair. “Of course, it does. It matters so much more.”

“You don’t have to be jealous of Ron, Draco. He’s nothing to me.”

He snorted derisively. “I am not jealous of anyone.”

“You are of Ronald. He makes you insecure. And you don’t need to be,” she said. She tried to sniff back all her tears that still slid down her cheeks. “The way I feel about you is like the sun compared to the flickering flame of a candle that I felt for Ron. Honestly. Now that I know this is how I can feel about someone, I question whether I ever loved him.”

His lips parted. A long sigh fell from them.

“I know,” he mumbled gently into her ear. His hand held the back of her head, allowing her tears and sadness to smear into his clothes. “I know, love.”

The evening fell late. They were both exhausted. The first day of school had not been kind to them.

They fell into a deep sleep together. Legs twisted around, latching onto one another, which was a mess to work out when Caprica awoke in need of milk. They laid together with their little girl between them for a little while longer before she was put back in her bassinet.

Much of the night carried on in the same fashion. Sleep, wake, feed, sleep, wake, change nappy.

By the time the tired morning light crept through the curtains of the suite, Hermione guessed that she’d been awake at least six times that night. Her body felt it through the tired muscles.

She stretched out her limbs as she did every morning and was surprised when she realized she was in her bed alone.

It was Monday. Breakfast started soon. She would be expected to be in attendance.

Hermione slipped in the loo for a quick shower and mummy diaper change. The flow had started to decrease. She decided on wearing her normal knickers with an extra absorbent pad. It made a horrible noise as she walked. A simple silencing spell muted those squeaky rustling sounds.

Caprica slept in peaceful slumber within her bassinet. A night of waking had left the poor thing exhausted. Hermione worked quietly to undress the baby and change the dirty nappy and adorn her into a sweet little outfit. It was her debut within the castle.

Plans were quashed when Caprica spit on the entire outfit. Hermione took a breath. She vanquished the evidence with a quick spell. It was by the grace of Merlin for magic, otherwise, had she been a muggle, that would have made her cry.

The two girls made their last adjustments when Draco slipped in through the suite door. He was dressed in a fresh school uniform. Hair was teased and styled back. He’d slipped out to ready for the day with a shower and change of clothes, it seemed.

His smile grew when he saw them. A sparkle came to the corner of his eyes.

“Good morning.” He kissed Hermione’s forehead. “Oi, look at you. You look like a right royal Malfoy with that grow suit.”

“I thought so too.”

It was one of the few articles that weren’t purple or pastel yellow. The grow suit was dark, with black, grey and green vertical stripes. A matching hat made her eyes pop through the darkness with their vibrant silver.

“You belong in Slytherin with these colors.” He wiggled his fingers as little toys.

Caprica lifted an unimpressed pout. She was not happy to be awake.

“They fit her,” Draco stated as he absorbed the image of his daughter donned in the colors of Salazar Slytherin.

Hermione snickered. “Perhaps we better take them off then.”

He playfully snarled as they exited the suite. It was the first time Hermione had left since she arrived last night.

The corridors of the castle were strange. They were a frightful place to have a baby. Darkness and shadows. The ominous appearance of unruly ghosts as they roamed unsettled Hermione’s stomach. Peeves, the school mischievous ghost, never listened to anyone. He lived to prank the students. As they passed his known haunt, she held her wand tight.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Draco asked.

Sounds that echoed through the hall were that of a full Great Hall. The morning had passed faster than Hermione remembered. They were entering at the time when most students were awake and eating before class.

Draco’s question was frustrating because the true answer was no. She was not ready. The choice, though, was not hers. She had to be there. The law required it.

She forced a smile as genuine as she could manage. “Honestly, I doubt anyone will notice.”

The moment they stepped into the Great Hall, every single pair of eyes landed upon them.

Apparently they did notice.

“They’ve expected us,” Draco whispered as they walked to the Slytherin table. Caprica rested in his arms. She wasn’t bothered by the noise of the students at all.

Perhaps it felt home to her. Hermione was pregnant in the same noisy environment.

A group of familiar faces emerged through the onslaught of stares. Daphne and Millicent waved excitedly. Pansy’s lips were curled, as if in a smirk of satisfaction. She instructed students to move so there was enough space for Hermione and Draco to sit center of their group.

“Let me see her,” Pansy said. “We’ve been on pins and needles. How come neither of you wrote? So rude.”

Hermione grimaced. With everything that happened, she hadn’t thought to let her friends know.

Draco’s raising was quite different. “I did write, Pans.”

“Two days later.” The witch’s eyes went to the bundle within Draco’s arms. “Well, go on. We’ve waited long enough don’t you think?”

Hermione peeled away the protective layer against Caprica’s cheek. It exposed her puffy pale cheeks to the room. Her little eyes flinched and turned away against Draco’s chest.

“She’s a little thing,” Goyle commented. It read a tone of surprise. “Thought she’d be bigger with the size Hermione was there toward the end.”

That earned a very sharp snort from Pansy’s nostril. “Gregory!”

Daphne slapped his arm. “Dolt.”

A scared expression passed through his one-note face. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“That’s alright, Goyle,” Hermione assured him. “I was very large. There is a lot more that sits in the belly than just the baby. It does come out unequal, unfortunately.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Daphne said. “You looked beautiful.”

Pansy then stood up, both palms against the table. “All of you, shut it.” The table fell quiet. “She’s yawning. A little baby yawn.”

“Merlin, she’s a beauty,” Millicent cooed.

“Good work to the both of yous,” Daphne said. Her eyes, too, were glued to the infant in Draco’s arms.

Caprica was the new attraction like at a theme park. She captured every one of their hearts. Pansy greedily held her until there were only a few minutes left of breakfast for the rest of the table to formerly meet her.

“Whose up first?” Crabbe asked.

The Slytherins looked around, confused.

“We all have Defense Against the Dark Arts first, so Professor Burbage is going to care for her while teaching a few students about infant care,” Hermione explained. “Then we switch, depending on the class and how important it is. DADA and Potions are the two we can’t miss because they’re practical skills. Unfortunately, that means she’ll have to go with Professor Burbage then.”

“I wish I could help.” Daphne puffed out a bottom lip. “Exams are going to be tough this year. All I’ve been doing is studying.”

“You should ask what Hermione was doing while she was in labor,” Draco joked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Studying for the transfiguration exam.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing too!” Daphne sighed. “I need more help than I can get at this point.”

“I’ll be glad to help you study,” Hermione offered. “As long as you don’t mind a bit of interruptions. Caprica likes to eat every two hours so we live on a two hour schedule.”

Although the invitation had been for Daphne to study within Hermione’s private suite, it really meant the entire Slytherin sixth year. They all spent their free periods there. Studying. Books upon books were against the floor, tables, the desk, the sofa.

Pansy overtook Hermione’s bed with all her notes and textbooks. Blaise laid stretched in front of the fireplace. Shoes off. Crabbe and Goyle read lazily on the sofa. The stack of books between them moved slowly, as did their eyes as they read.

Millicent was at the desk. She had a bad back and needed the support of the chair as she worked.

Daphne laid on her belly with a spread in front of her. Her feet dangled up in the air, swinging as if she was having fun, frantically re-reading her texts books. Every once in a while, she’d hang her face in her hands.

Hermione and Draco found a space amongst the chaos to sit, each in their own space, to study.

Sometimes, the boys left (except Blaise) for Quidditch practice. It left the girls more space to stretch and gossip before the wizards all returned to demand quiet. Blaise didn’t even mind if they played a bit of music to fill the silence.

The atmosphere of intense studying must have been soothing to a newborn baby. Caprica slept soundly as they worked. She’d wake only when she needed fed or changed. Hermione was allowed to cast a charm that reflected eyes as she nursed her daughter. Not that any eyes tried to pry as she breastfed. Exams were too close for such nonsense.

The arrival of Narcissa’s care packages were at the right time. They were all burned out of studying that it physically hurt to read.

“These things are so gross. I’d spit it out, if I wasn’t so exhausted.” Pansy laid spread out like she was crucified to the bedspread. In her hand was a small cellophane wrapper.

“What are they?” Crabbe piped up.

“Peach Owls,” she moaned back. Her tongue hanged from her lips. A streak of light orange hue down the middle of the pink flesh.

“Gimme,” he replied. “Can’t get enough of those.”

“Trade me.”

He shrugged. “For what?”

“The sugared butterfly wings.”

“No way Peach Owls equal butterfly wings.” Crabbe snorted.

“Can anyone tell me three differences from doxies and fairies?” Millicent cried from the desk. Care of Magical Creatures was her least favorite class. All her questions were related to animals.

Draco had settled into taking a break. He had Caprica leaned back against his thighs. The light from the open windows traveled through. Wind fluttered the curtains away from their holds at the wall. The small head of the baby moved excitedly when the fabric blew close.

More and more Caprica was being more alert rather than just a sleeping angel. Her eyes held eye contact. They watched the faces above her. She got especially excited when Draco’s face came into view.

Not only did Caprica resemble her father, she loved his attention. A true daddy’s girl.

It was not unlike her mother, who was the best bud of her own father. William was Hermione’s favorite person as a child. Often, he still was the parent she came to when she needed something.

“One chocolate frog,” Pansy said. “That’s the highest I’m willing to go.”

“One peppermint toad,” Crabbe countered.

It caused the witch to sit straight up. “Are you mental? No way. No way is a peppermint toad equal to butterfly wings.”

Daphne cried in from the loo. “Guys!”

“What is it?” A few voices called.

“I’ve really messed up. I think it’s – oh Salazar, save me. I think it’s permanent!”

“Nothing you’re doing in there should be permanent,” Pansy shouted back.

“It’s not changing.”

Uh oh.

Daphne let out a small whimper. “I’m never going to pass this blasted exam.”

She emerged from the loo with a brow every single color of the rainbow. The hairs were vibrant neon pink, red, purple, yellow, green, blue. It was very eye catching.

Goyle couldn’t contain his laughs behind his coughs. Sooner it led to Crabbe laughing, too.

It was one of the few moments Blaise raised his attention away from his studies. “Nice brows, Greengrass.”

Her lips downturned to a pathetic, puffed pout.

“Reverte,” Hermione casted.

Nothing changed.

“Strange,” she said. “That’s never failed me before.”

Pansy climbed off the bed to inspect the damage closely. Each hair was drenched in color. It was not a typical action of the _Crinus Muto_ spell. Hermione’s spell hadn’t changed a single one.

“Merlin, what the bloody hell did you do to your face, Daph?”

Her face fell into her hands. “I don’t know,” she howled.

“Maybe if we just toss her into the Black Lake,” Crabbe offered.

“That lake will strip the color off your skin,” Goyle added.

For the second time, Blaise looked away from his book. As the only person of color within the room, it was right that he was moved to shock by their statement. “Do you two even hear yourselves?”

They didn’t. They hadn’t even heard him. Crabbe and Goyle were focused upon their open packages in their laps.

Daphne managed to have the spell on her brows stuck tight. It wouldn’t reverse. Even after a good ten times of using the reverse spell, the rainbow colors were still in effect.

“Let’s just use the spell to color them her natural color.” Pansy sighed. “It’s taking too long to riddle this out. We’ve got an exam later. We can’t waste time.”

“All you’ve been doing is looking at a fashion magazine,” Millicent retorted.

“I glanced at it.”

“Your nose must have fallen off between the pages because it was stuck down there pretty far.”

A shrill cry split the still of the loo. “What about my eyebrows? Look at me! I look like I should have a leprechaun dancing across my forehead.”

Hermione frowned. “Finding the perfect shade to match their color will take too long, too, I’m afraid.”

“Cedric cannot see me like this.” The poor witch looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes focused upon the line of hairs just above the watery eyes.

Cedric Diggory had recently shown interest in Daphne. They made plans after term end to meet up for a date.

“Cedric would like you if you’re entire head was rainbow.”

“Poppocock!” Daphne exclaimed back.

It took the better coaxing of an hour for the brows to return to their normal color. Daphne declared she’d never mutter the spell again. By that time, she was too exhausted to continue her studies. She decided on a walk by the Lake to clear her thoughts. Blaise had plans in the library so he left soon after.

All the treats of Narcissa left Crabbe and Goyle sleepy. Their eyes moved at a snail’s pace through their materials. Draco watched Crabbe nod off and on again four times before he told them to go get some rest.

“I’m alright, Draco. I’m just studying.”

“It takes you two minutes to blink,” he said in his normal icy tone. “Crabbe’s not read past the first sentence.”

The rest of the Slytherins fell away to their own plans leaving Hermione and Draco finally alone. Their infant daughter was stretched out on her belly against her father’s forearm as he walked the length of the suite. Her silver eyes looked around. Attentions turned to her surroundings. The pressure against her body convinced her of safety as she was exposed to parts of the suite she hadn’t seen before.

“I can’t believe she is already two weeks old,” Hermione hummed. She ran a soft touch down the back of her daughter’s hair.

Draco sighed as he regarded the infant in his hold. “Two weeks of this place.”

“I thought you liked it here.”

“I don’t. They don’t respect her as my child. I miss everything. You’re here alone. It isn’t fair that I’m to be kept away just because we aren’t married,” he said bitterly. “She needs both of us. Not just you to care for her all day and night.”

It was difficult, the nights that Draco couldn’t slip away. Lonely nights.

“I know. We miss you those nights.”

“The Slytherin dorm is an insult when I could be here staying with you two.”

She could just imagine the way Professor McGonagall’s head would spin right off her neck if she heard such a thing. It was bound to spin all the way down to the dungeons.

Hermione shook her head. “We both know that isn’t going to happen.”

“Why not? I have much a right to be here with Caprica as you do.”

“Can you imagine what the other parents might do if they heard the school was practically giving us permission to shag every day of the week and possibly make another baby? They’d riot. It would be like the school endorsing pre-marital sex.”

“All they do here is have pre-marital sex.”

“The school doesn’t endorse it,” Hermione chuckled. “There is a difference.”

Draco waved his hand. “Do you know there is so much fluid found on the furniture here that the elves have to carry a special soap every where they clean? Because it’s everywhere! They should send the bill home to the parents, so they realize just what their children are doing in their free time.”

She chuckled. “I can just imagine what you’d look like if a letter came home with Caprica that said that. You’d burn down the whole bloody castle.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, love. I’d not burn it down. I’d only…make a few additions to the castles many charms. Might be difficult to shag if you can’t touch one another eh?”

She smiled. That protective side of him was so handsome. He glowed like a true angel with his daughter in his arms, her in his eye. Some source ignited a happiness beneath his flesh. It consumed him with a fatherly cloak, overprotective and over loving.

Her feet lifted until only the tips of her toes pressed into the floor. His lips were surprised to be ambushed in the middle of conversation. Still, his sway stopped. He leaned into her kiss, deep and firm. A devilish side of him emerged when his tongue flicked at her closed lips playfully.

Six weeks was a strict order of rest. One she intended to keep.

Draco wore a smile when their lips parted. His eyes opened lazily, half shuttered with lust and love.

“I cannot wait to see you be a dad to a teenager.” She grinned with glee. The idea of him dealing with the drama of Hogwarts from afar without the power to intervene was too hilarious. It might take a true curse to keep him locked with the Manor. “Caprica is going to turn all this hair grey.”

“Fat chance!” His eyes turned upward toward his beloved platinum locks.

The castle descended to excitement at the last night. The finals exams were the next day. Afterward, the carriages would arrive to bring them to the train. Home was in sight. The corridors vibrated with the very emotion.

Caprica sensed it, too. She was awake that night without the desire to sleep.

The morning of exams, Hermione awoke with drooping dark bags beneath her eyes. Thoughts moved like slow sludge slower than which her body moved toward the Great Hall with her inkwells and quills clinking within her satchel. The tiny infant wrapped in muslin cloth bound against her chest slept soundly. Her nostrils moved a millimeter as she breathed, the only indication that she was alive at all.

She reached down into her satchel to grab her supplies, left her attention away from her walking path, and as she rummaged through the mess of dummies and nappies in search of a quill, bumped into someone.

“Steady on,” the voice said. Two hands gently touched the ends of her shoulders and held her upright. It was not forceful, nor strong. They were delicate hands that fluttered away the moment her two feet landed back.

“Oh.” She gasped. The green eyes behind overgrown, dark hairs shined bright. “Harry. Sorry. I didn’t see you.”

His shoulders shrugged. “That’s alright. You’ve got more to pay attention to now, haven’t you?”

The last day of school had Harry Potter donned in his most hastily thrown together uniform. His hairs stood on end. A greasy shine through the scalp. The dark fabric was full of wrinkles and misshapen folds from his casual tossing about of his robes. The collar was only half folded. One side struck straight up against his ear. As did only one edge of the shirt at his waist.

She appraised his appearance with a rising need to chastise him for being so untidy. It was hard to pass up even with the lack of sleep.

“I suppose I have,” her voice echoed softly.

“She’s beautiful, you know,” he said. He scratched at the back of his head. His weight shifted in discomfort. “I caught a glimpse in Care for Magical Creatures the day you brought her. She’s a small little thing, isn’t she?”

The feet of her daughter started to stir against her belly. It brought awareness to the infant displayed at her chest. The idea that she was small at the ache of her back from toting her against her body was humorous.

“You should try wearing this thing,” Hermione snorted, “she won’t feel so small then.”

A shimmer captured his eyes as they stared down at the perfectly content face rested within a warm cocoon. It hurt to see the longing in his eyes, the curiosity to see just what his friend had created.

The entire pregnancy, she could have tossed Ronald and Harry into the Black Lake for their stupidity. They acted that of complete wankers. Ronald, being the worst, but Harry not totally innocent either. Their willingness to throw their years long friendship away over wounded her deeper than she ever thought possible.

Now, it was the blessing in disguise. She found a strength without them. True happiness, too. Draco was a better suited best friend. He completed Hermione’s deficient pieces just as she did for him.

None of it would have happened without the loneliness that came from Gryffindor’s abandonment.

It was true that her heart was deadened to the carings of Harry and Ronald. They were in the past. However, she was not so keen to see them injured on that behalf. She’d grown to see that they were not the best fit, and the best fit came for her.

“Single file. No talking,” boomed the great voice of that dark professor donned in his black shroud. His eyes were sharp as all his students filtered in through the open doors.

Harry and Hermione casted their sad, supportive smiles, knowing that their conversation had ended. It was time to part. For real, this time.

Waves of tired and anxious students walked through the Great Halls doors. Professor Snape stood at the front. He examined each and every student that passed by. Neville Longbottom sped by without breathing. His feet did a strange skip to get past the fastest.

A gaggle of talking Hufflepuffs started through. Professor Snape remained them of silence.

“I expect top marks from you, Miss Wenlock, on the potions final.”

“Sir?” The witch stopped short.

“To have the time to gossip before the exams exudes a confidence that should only come from a perfect score.”

The Hufflepuff paled. Her chin ducked through and passed without another word.

As Hermione began to filter through, his hand shot out onto her shoulder. The ice-cold touch seeped through her robes.

“I spied a wide desk at the back, Miss Granger.” His voice mumbled lowly. “Perhaps a good choice for those with extra weight to carry.”

“Oh, um, thank you, professor.”

The professor then followed her inside the Great Hall. He took up stalking through the aisles near the back of the room where Hermione and Caprica sat. She tried to find her friends through the crowds. Daphne was near the front of the room. Crabbe and Goyle sat alongside one another at the back. Crabbe waved when he spied her searching eyes.

Draco walked in later than most. The moment he appeared through the doorway, he was ushered by Professor McGonagall to the front of the room. He wasn’t given a moment to breathe. The desk he was given was conveniently out of sight, thanks to a line of heads.

“Eyes front, Mister Malfoy.” The elderly witch snipped. Her voice carried through the expansive room. “No notes or texts are permitted during this exam. Should you be found with any, it will result in automatic failure and a note of explanation written to your parents.”

The professors raised their arms. Exams fluttered out of the ends of their wands onto each desk.

Quills dipped in ink the next moment and the silence fell to complete focus.

Hermione made great time. She’d finished her Transfiguration exam and moved onto her Potions exam before Caprica moved. Her throat made a soft groan. Little arms stretched out through the fabric into Hermione’s vision.

She worked faster, not wanting her baby to disturb everyone’s final exams.

Of course, it was when the end was in sight that Caprica fussed. Her lips quivered after sucking on her hand for a few minutes.

“Oh, no. Hush, hush, dove. Mummy’s almost done,” Hermione cooed. She moved her wrist so quickly that it started to ache.

Caprica did not settle. Her upset went from quiet to noisy. Though her cries were soft, the people around her noticed. Their eyes turned with a sharp frustration at being interrupted from their concentration.

Tension went to the back of Hermione’s throat. She had an essay answer that would take quite a few minutes crafting, but she couldn’t bare to have her daughter break the concentration of all the other students.

She stood up from her seat and went into the hall to calm Caprica. Only, a dummy wouldn’t suffice.

“No, no,” Hermione whimpered. “I can’t feed you. I’ve got to finish. Please, love. Go back to sleep.”

The infant didn’t understand. She simply fussed. Her body writhed in hunger.

She paced the length of the corridor trying to rock her daughter to sleep. To no avail.

Professor Snape entered the corridor with a page in his hand. “Miss Granger, you have left a question blank.”

“I know, sir. But see, Caprica is hungry and she’s upset and she won’t stop crying.” She rubbed her eyes to keep the tears from falling. All her future looked so much harder from this view. If she couldn’t finish a single exam, what else couldn’t she do with a baby? “She won’t settle until she eats.”

The deeply etched scowl of the professor lessened. “Give her to me.”

“What?”

He sighed. “Give me the child and go complete your exam.”

Hermione hesitated. “But – sir? Do you know how to care for an infant?”

“Miss Granger, I am not a mentally deficient wizard.” Two pale hands split from his black robes. They waited for the baby to be placed in his arms. “She will be safe when you return.”

She wrapped Caprica from her chest, a sudden rush of chill escaped when the seal broke, and handed her daughter over, carefully.

The professor adjusted to the weight gracefully. His arms wrapped Caprica close, a blanket of his flowy sleeves against her chest. She still fidgeted with discomfort, though she was enraptured by the new figure within her gaze.

“Do not stand there and gawk, Miss Granger,” Professor Snape hissed gently.

His eyes remained focused on the being within his hands. Something strange throughout his expression, a visible shock and gentleness throughout.

“Yes, sir.” She grabbed the exam from his hold. “And, well, thank you, professor. You’re the best. And I mean that.”

“Are these compliments better than top marks, Miss Granger?”

She shook her head. “No, sir.”

“Then off you pop.”

Hermione bit back a smile. “Yes, professor.”

**Author's Note:**

> I released this to sorta trial how it was received and if the story was something that readers wanted me to pursue. I've been on the fence about it. Please leave a review/comment and let me know what you think. Honestly!


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